


New Cancer

by theprydonian_archivist



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Episode: s03e11 Utopia, Episode: s03e12 The Sound of Drums, Episode: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, Multi, Sex, Threesome, Torture, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-05
Updated: 2008-03-04
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprydonian_archivist/pseuds/theprydonian_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the Master and Lucy Saxon leading up to the Master's death in the Doctor's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> *The main relationship in this story is between the Master and Lucy Saxon. The Doctor plays a much larger role in it a little later in the story.  
> *The chapters are named after the songs I listened to while writing them, as the song I listened to always played a huge role in the mood of the chapter and what ended up happening...because apparently the music dictated my stories, not me. :)
> 
> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Prydonian](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Prydonian). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [The Prydonian collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theprydonian/profile).

_  
My eyes could barely stay focused on anything, let alone on the tear-stained face of The Doctor, my adversary and now the man holding me in death._

_Thought I cannot clearly see his face, just the flickering blur of him, the glint of light on the streaks on his cheeks, I can feel his arms, his knees bent slightly at my side._

_It warms me, that I am not, as I thought I might be, entirely alone at my death._

_Still, I cannot help laugh at him._

_"I win."_


	2. 1. The Pretender

His lips moved softly, his eyes lulling and half-closed as he thrummed his fingertips against the desktop rhythmically. 

Second in line, Lucy was fighting a million and one sensations as she peered over the shoulder of the man in front of her to catch glimpses of Harold Saxon - in the flesh. Something about the thrumming of this Harold Saxon's fingers against the table top seemed to light a fire in the lowest part of her belly. 

Obviously not interested in the chatter of the man standing before him, book nervously clenched in his hands, Harold leaned forward, opening his eyes, forcing a little grin to his face, lifting his hand from the table, snatching the book from the man's hands the moment he saw the chance. "Uh-huh," he muttered irritably, opening the book and scrawling his name across the inside of the front cover. He shoved the book into the man's hands and peered around him, not bothering to wait until he was done speaking. He motioned to Lucy, next in line. 

Her heart mimicked the sound his fingertips had made against the desktop. She moved forward, her feet taking her gracefully while her insides felt like they were crumbling. Her mind was racing with many things she didn't want it to be racing with, one thing she would have liked it to work out. 

How many times did I masturbate in the shower thinking about this book? How the hell is appropriate?

Shaking her head, she put the book down on the table as the man who had stood in line before her shyly shuffled off, finally getting the message. Undoubtedly, he would still vote for Saxon, even after the bored brush-off. 

Leaning forward, Saxon flipped open the book, pen in hand, and suddenly Lucy's mind simply refused to work on figuring out what she should say to him. 

"What's your name, dear?" He asked, not looking up. 

"Lucy - uh, Lucy Cole, Mr. Saxon." She gave a small grin as he lifted his eyes towards her, studying. Flip-flop...she thought, feeling her heart give a little throb as he sat up in his seat. 

"The daughter of Lord Cole of Tarminster? That Lucy?" 

Smile broadening, Lucy nodded her head vigorously. "Yeah, yeah - that Lucy. I went to school at Reodean and studied Italian-" 

"Yes," Harold said, standing up behind the table, holding out his hand to take hers. "I know." Keeping his eyes locked firmly on hers, he bowed as she lifted her hand daintily into his, brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles. "It is such a pleasure to have finally met you after hearing your father speak so highly of you." Grinning, he pressed his fingers on her, lifting his head. "Of course I never grew tired of seeing all of your beautiful photographs." 

Feeling a blush rise in her cheeks, Lucy dropped her eyes to the grain of the table, feeling the warmth of Saxon's fingers seeping into her own. 

Lifting his eyes to those waiting, Saxon lifted his hand and waved for them to leave. "Table closed," he announced. "Something more important has come up." 

As Lucy lifted her eyes to his, he turned his eyes back towards her, giving a little wry smile. 

*** 

Lucy felt her breath rush softly from her lungs as she hit the wall at her back. As her lips parted to pull in a breath, Harold's mouth found hers, taking the breath right back. But she didn't mind. 

His fingers wrapped tight over her wrists, lifting them against the wall, stretching her arms as though to crucify her. She could feel his bare abdomen press against hers, the warmth of his skin seeming like a flame against the skin exposed through her torn open blouse. Her fingers clenched in towards her palms, her nails digging against her skin as his fingers tightened on her wrists, stinging while his tongue played along hers, while he swallowed her soft moan in response to his leg pressing between hers. 

Loosening his fingers, Harold moved his hands along the length of her arms to her sides, pulling at her blouse. Releasing her from his kiss, his lips trailed down her neck to her collar bone as he pulled the blouse down over her shoulder, tossing it to the side. He smiled to himself as the scent of her perfume was washed away by the scent of her aroused sweat beading between her breasts, and he bowed his head to lick away, sensing her smiling softly as she tipped her head back against the wall. 

Pulling back, he lifted his head, bringing a hand up, knotting his fingers in her hair as he pulled her away from the wall, pulling her head back to expose her throat. Her heart thrumming, her blood pulsing through the so vulnerable veins just under her frail skin almost meshed with the beating in his head, and he smiled. 

"I am your master," he whispered, leaning close, his lips brushing hers as she gasped, sucking in his breath.   
Opening her eyes, shimmering, eyes dilated as a million new chemicals were produced by her brain cells, not knowing what to do with this new kind of arousal. "Yes," she whispered. "You are." 

Lips parting as he loomed over her, fingers still firmly holding her hair, he touched the tip of his tongue gently to her lower lip, sighing. "You taste better than you smell." 

A smile touched her face as he released her enough to let her nod. "You, too." 

"Get on the bed." He turned, shoving her down on his bed, his fingers slipping from her hair, pulling the clips from it that had held it up. 

As she collapsed against the firm mattress and silken sheets, her hair fell wildly about her face. She peered up at him through the golden locks as her breasts heaved, looking animalistic as he stepped towards her, kneeling over her and pushing her back. 

He lifted a hand to brush her hair back from her eyes, pausing, tilting his head as though to examine her carefully, brow slightly knitting as he watched her. "You will be good for me," he said, nodding thoughtfully.   
Smiling softly, Lucy managed a breathy: "Really?" 

"Yes," he said, sliding a hand down between her thighs, his fingers tickling softly up, sliding inside the fabric of her underwear. "You will be very good."


	3. 2. Endless

Leaning his head back, pinching the joint of this marvelous drug of the humans, the Master peered up at the ceiling, dancing with the shadows of trees outside the window, glowing with the pale white of a full moon. The smoke of the drug Lucy had insisted he try burned pleasantly in his lungs, and he imagined it throbbed there in time with the drums inside his skull.  
Reaching over, Lucy took the joint for a drag before carefully pinching out the burning ember at the end and setting it on the bedside table. She turned her pot-glazed eyes up to the dancing shadows on the wall, slowly letting the smoke seep out her nose as Harold blew it out in a steady stream, watching it swirl into the air.

"My name's not Harold," he said in a slow-sudden way, crossing his eyes to look down the line of his nose.

"Really?" Lucy giggled. "Then what is it?" Pausing, she looked over at him as he sat there, eyes crossed, looking down at his nose. "The Master?"

"Yes," he said softly, still looking down at his nose. "I am The Master of all things." Lips slack, he let his eyes relax, turning to look at her, laying naked on top of the covers.

She laughed, her nose crinkling as she curled her legs up. "Master of all things," she said in a small voice, reaching out to walk her fingers up his nose into his   
hair. "Master of all things...Master..."

"Yes," he said, reaching up, snatching her wrist with quick fingers, leaning away from the head of the bed as he bent her arm out.

"Ouch..." She murmured, faint laughter still dancing on her lips.

Ouch. Ouch?

He released her, watched her as she pulled back, rubbing her wrist. It occurred to him that his high was already wearing off. Apparently Time Lord brains needed more than a joint to keep them stoned.

Turning and leaning back against the headboard, the Master lowered his hand to the crinkled sheets beside his thigh, tapping his fingers as the drums beat on the wrong side of his eardrum. "I want to show you something," he said. "Where I came from last."

She would be easy enough to break. She was like a flower...pretty and happy and innocent. Easy to stomp. 

Showing her the future of humanity would be a stomp enough for her.

He could see it now. He could see her dancing to the drums.

"OK," she said, still laughing slightly as she tugged on a lock of her hair.

Getting up, he walked to the window a moment, feeling the cool of the night seeping through the glass and staining the air about it, feeling it raise goosebumps along his arms. Turning, he grabbed up his pants, pulling them on. "Get up," he said as he zipped and buttoned the slacks, going next for his white undershirt. He buttoned it most of the way up, not bothering with the top three buttons or a tie. Where they were going, ties were entirely unnecessary. "Get dressed."

"OK." Climbing off the bed, Lucy found her clothes, climbing into them and fluffing her hair slightly, eyes shut, smile on her face as she swung her hair back and forth, humming the tune.

Turning towards her, her watched a moment, listening to her humming, reflecting the drums.

The drums the drums the drums.

Taking his eyes from her, he headed towards the door. "Follow me."

***

"What is this thing?" Lucy asked, looking around at the inside of this...strange thing he had brought her to. It hadn't looked like much more than a blue police box on the outside. Maybe she was just confused. Sometimes pot made her get confused.

Ignoring her question, the Master set the machine to take them to the future of humanity. The terrible future that would stomp Lucy's flower soul.

"This goddamn fucking outdated model," he snarled, beating the control panel with an open palm until the machine shuddered and whirred.

A gagged little shout of surprise escaped Lucy's throat as she fell back against one of the walls, looking up and around at the strange room. "Harold - what is this place?"

"I told you," he snarled, whipping around to face her, leaning against the control panel, smiling, lifting his hands out to the sides. "I'm the Master." His smile vanished as he pushed away from the control panel, replaced with a vicious snarl. "Not Harold Saxon."

The machine gave a jolt, sending the Master stumbling forward, his bare feet grinding against the grate as he knocked into Lucy, forcing her back against the wall.  
The disturbance came to an abrupt halt, and the Master pulled back, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling, expecting another jolt. It never came.

Lowering his eyes back to Lucy, he took a deep breath, holding his hand out to her. "This is called a TARDIS," he said, "and we are now 100 trillion."

A small frown crossed Lucy's face as she lifted her hand, resting it in the Master's. "What?"

Fingers wrapping over hers, the Master spun, pulling her towards the door. Throwing it open, he pulled her forward, catching her by the shoulders and pulling her back against him, holding her firmly there, resting his jaw against her soft hair as he looked out into the dark new world the humans inhabited. Only there were no humans in this dead valley - not strictly speaking, anyway.

"This is the planet of Malcassario, where human kind will ultimately end up in the year 10o trillion - the end of the universe," he said, his voice a whisper in her ear.  
Standing slack jawed in the door of the thing called the TARDIS, Lucy stared out into the dead valley. No life. No life except the humanoids rushing towards them across the blackened existence, glowing only under the faint light of the distant moon in the sky.

"What are they?" She whispered, her spine tingling with the instinct to hide from these things.

"Why," he said with a grin. "Those are people. They're just like you. They're humans."

"No..." She said softly. "They're not."

"Well...OK, you're half right," he said lightly, releasing her, moving to stand beside her, leaning against the frame of the TARDIS door. "They're called the Futurekind. They're cannibalistic humanoid beings hunting humans," he said. "They can be quite interesting when you get to know them."

They were getting closer, kicking up a puff of dust behind them as they ran forward.

"Close the door."

"But why?" He asked, looking out at the nearing horde. "Don't you want to see one half of what your race will become?"

"Please," she whispered softly, feeling a hot tear trace down her cheek.

They were close enough now for her to see that those were not weapons in their hands. They were gnawed human bones - legs and arms, broken in half for the marrow. These creatures, these Futurekind were stained. Their hands were covered in fresh blood, their faces as well. Blood and frothing saliva oozed from their lips and dripped from their chin as their tongues rolled in their mouths.

"Please close the door."

"All right," the Master sighed. "If you insist." Stepping forward he pulled the doors shut. They were only a few yards away, and their stench filled his nose. He knew that Lucy could smell them, too - their unwashed bodies, their teeth, never brushed, with bits of human flesh caught in them, rotting in their mouths.  
Stepping back from the door, shaking softly, Lucy looked up at the Master with tear filled eyes as he turned back to her, lifting his eyebrows. "What are you?"

"Time Lord," he said. "You're kind will never have the pleasure of really knowing the Time Lords," he said, then paused, lifting his eyes towards the ceiling once again. "Actually...would that be a pleasure?" Giving a shrug, he moved toward the controls. "I am one of the last. There is only one other."

Lucy just watched him go, watched him work the controls. She didn't know what she was supposed to say.

"The infernal Doctor destroyed our home planet," he said, turning to look back at Lucy as the TARDIS shuddered into action, to take them back. He would have gone anywhere else, had he the option. No...the Doctor had disabled the TARDIS moments before it had dematerialized before his eyes, with the Master behind the controls. "I was stuck in a sick, old, dying body for years," he shouted, his voice ringing metallic off the walls. "Locked in a prison I didn't even fucking recognize!"

She started at his voice, closing her eyes, pressing out the tears, feeling them burn their way down her cheeks.  
Sighing, the Master watched her a moment, shaking his head softly. "It's OK," he said, moving forward, lifting his hands to her cheeks. They felt cold under the heat of his palms. As she opened her eyes to look up at him, he forced a reassuring smile. "You don't have to cry."

"Why not?" She muttered, her voice crackling softly.

"Because," he said, "you are a pretty lucky lady. And a lucky pretty lady." He smiled, pulling her against him, hugging her tightly, resting his chin on the top of her head as she folded against him like a frightened child. Stroking her hair, he closed his eyes, rocking her gently back and forth. "You have me now. Standing by my side, you never have to face that future. Standing by my side, you will face a much, much greater future than any you could possibly imagine."

Now she could hear the bladed edge to his voice, even collapsed against his warm body, his arms curled around protectively, holding her snug. And yet, she somehow found them comforting.


	4. 3. Insoluble

Lucy sat on the bed in the Master's room, frowning down at two pairs of shoes sitting on the floor before her. She didn't know which one best went with her burgundy skirt and jacket and white undershirt, and she much preferred to ponder her choice of shoes rather than the faces of the monsters she had seen the night before.

"You should marry me."

His abrupt voice startled her. Jumping, spinning to face him as he walked from the bathroom, tightening his tie, she let out a deep breath. "What?"

"You should marry me," he said again without enthusiasm, though he followed the words up with a little hop and skip and a twirl. "It would be the best move for everyone."

"Uh..." She wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to say. She had just met the man she had thought to be Harold Saxon the day before and learned the truth of him after a long bout of rather vicious sex. It all had been followed up by constant nightmares of the things he had shown her. It would see that he never slept as every time she jolted away from another dream he was there, waiting to soothe her back to sleep. He had frightened her and inevitably changed her life, even if she were to turn him down and never see him again, but he still seemed to be such a nice guy - or...whatever he was.

"I mean, think about," he said with a little shrug, straightening his tie a little before turning to the large mirror stretched across the wall facing his bed. He admired himself in his suit, straightened his tie again, running his fingers through his short hair and smoothing it out. "You, with your good looks, sweet demeanor and good breeding will strengthen my already rather successful campaign and swing those old retches that have already, by some miracle, succumb to me."

What?

He turned his eyes to her in the mirror, loosening and re-tightening his tie. "And you will always remain under my protection, never to face the horrors of the terrible future I showed you last night, or any of the horrors leading up to it. You will have nothing to fear." He gave a soft little smile, turning to face her. "I will protect you from everything and anything. There is nothing to lose here."

Pursing her lips, swallowing thickly, she looked back down at her shoes. "Which ones shall I wear?"

Walking forward, he lifted a hand, cupping her cheek and lifting her face. Smiling down into her eyes, he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Wear the brown ones, dear," he said, kissing her. "Wear the brown, and say you'll marry me."

Lifting her eyes up to meet his, she felt her lips parting slightly, involuntarily, but no sound came out. She didn't know what she was supposed to say.

His eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled. "Come on," he said gently, lightly. "You know you'll marry me. It would just be nice to actually hear it before I announce it tonight."

"No one is going to believe that we've been seeing each other for months," she said, shaking her head, averting her eyes from his as he trailed his fingers gently down her jaw line to her neck.

"They don't have to," he said, lifting his eyebrows with a little smile. "They would if I wanted them to, but what would be more romantic than a story of love at first sight?"

She lifted her eyes, as he lifted his thumb to gently stroke her cheek. "My dad with think I've gone mad."  
"Like I said," he murmured gently, tipping his lips closer to her. "They will believe that we've been seeing each other if I want them too." He began to gently rap his finger tips against the nape of her neck in a soft, rhythmic movement. "I can make anyone believe anything."  
Letting out a soft sight, she bowed her eyes again. "You can?"

"I can," he said. "Remember? I am the Master, after all."

***

Lucy was watching from across the room of finely dressed people, hovering about in their high heels and nicely polished shoes. She noticed that on occasion, as he talked, he would start tapping his toe in that same rhythm, the one that he seemed so constantly fascinated with, the one that he had gotten stuck in her head.  
Girls she had once known at school tried to talk to her. They would succeed for a while, but grow impatient as her attention was always drawn short, her eyes wandering to the Master as he laughed with others, slowly wandering from place to place, putting them all under his spell.

"Why do you keep looking at that bloke?" One girl had asked, following the line of her vision. "Harold Saxon's his name, right?"

No, her mind said firmly. He is the Master.

"Yes," she said. "He's the man I'm going to marry."

"Harold Saxon?" The girl turned her eyes back to him, lifting a judging eyebrow. "I dunno - he's cute, I suppose, in a strange kind of way. But marry?"

She noticed that when he didn't smile, when he was bored or seriously contemplating something, there was a something of a pout to his lips, his dark eyes slightly narrowed, the lines at the corners of his mouth were more defined. She liked how his nose had the softest slope, she liked his lips and his eyes. Tilting her head to the side, she tapped a finger on her cheek thoughtfully, watching him practically waltz about the room, seducing everyone whose eyes he met with little more than a smile and friendly, spread hands.

Finally, dinner was served. Appetizers vanished and huge platters of fresh salads, fruits, and meats filled the long tables at one end of the room. People began to fill their plates and retreat to the tables to eat, but the Master stayed on his feet, observing.

Slinking towards him, Lucy kept along the walls, as though she were a fox frightened to be seen by hunters. At last, as she made her way to him, she slipped her hand into his from behind, and he squeezed her fingers.

"In just a moment I will announce our engagement," he said, tipping his head back towards her. "Would you like a spring or summer wedding?"

"I always envisioned spring," she murmured. "Under a blossoming cherry tree."

"Then that is what you shall have, darling," he said with a smile as he watched people mingling by the food tables. "Come with me."

He led her towards the small platform standing at the end of the room opposite the food. He wasn't supposed to speak for about another ten minutes, so as he took to the microphone, curious eyes began to turn towards him quickly. He motioned for the sound system to be turned on and, with a charming little smile, tapped the microphone. "Can everyone hear me?" He asked into the device, feeling Lucy close behind him.

A murmured "yes" rose from the crowd.

"Good, good," he said, turning to Lucy, pulling her forward with an arm about her shoulders, turning back to the crowd. "I have an announcement that I wanted to share with everyone here tonight." He turned, beaming at Lucy. "Tonight I am the happiest man alive on this planet," he said, the microphone picking up his voice though he was still gazing down at Lucy. "I am so happy because...well..." He turned back to the microphone, the lights above catching the glint of tears in his dark eyes. "Tonight, before coming here, I asked this beautiful, beautiful woman here to marry me."

Lucy could feel his arm tighten on her shoulder, hugging him against him, and she smiled up at him.

"And she said yes."

The crowd seemed to all of a sudden swell with excitement and glee as champagne swells with bubbles. They applauded even more as he leaned down to give Lucy a tender little kiss, smiling to her as he touched the tip of his nose to hers.

As the crowd's sound died down a bit, he turned back to the microphone, wiping away a single little tear from his cheek. "I know - I know a lot of you are probably thinking, 'How can he be getting married? He's known her a month!'" He laughed softly. "Perhaps those of you who question this simply don't know what it is like to be so incredibly in love." He turned his eyes back to Lucy. "Perhaps you do not believe in love so powerful, but I do."


	5. 4. Dirty Sticky Floors

The Master, under the cloak of the name Harold Saxon, gave Lucy the wedding she had always dreamed of. He went so far as to find that cherry tree in blossom, to find the little doves she had always wanted perched among the blossoms. He bought for her the dress she'd wanted with its long train, it's classy strapless top and little tiara set amongst her blonde hair, done up in curls. He'd bought her the ring that she had picked out - a ring with a big diamond, an almost ungodly diamond. 

Standing beneath the blooming cherry tree, the Master had smiled softly, almost truly happy to be there. But the drumming was incessant in the back of his brain, no matter where he was. 

Holding Lucy's delicate fingers in his as the priest she'd picked out read through the ceremony, at last handing it off to them for their personal vows. The vows were decidedly short. Lucy hadn't been entirely sure what to say in hers, even after the months standing behind her of living with this strangest of strange men, even after having come to the conclusion that she really could be in love, not just infatuated or frightened. 

"You came to me in perfect moment," the Master had said softly, almost too softly for the guests to hear the words. "You came, beautifully, to me and offered me a million possibilities - you offered to open doors for me which I couldn't have opened on my own..." 

Ruffling feathers and fluttering blossoms over head released soft, pink petals to the grass almost as though on queue. 

"You've opened my eyes," Lucy said. "You've shown me things I never could have imagined. You've shown me things that have terrified me and awed me, and all the while you held me close. I have never felt so warm as I do now, with you..." 

Happy tears had warmed Lucy's pristine white cheeks as the Master had slipped the diamond ring onto her finger. He had insisted that he didn't need a ring - he already had a ring which they could use in the ceremony. It was strange - thick with a round emblem, what looked rather like planets or galactic maps set against a green opal.   
At last, the priest said the final, clasping words: "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."   
With a smile perched on his lips, the Master wrapped his arms around Lucy, scooping her close to press his lips to hers, letting himself fall into the kiss just as much as Lucy. Companionship wasn't so bad - so long as the companion was an attractive woman. 

***

_Wedding night._

_Wonderful night._

_Cursed fucking drumming._

It was all he could do to keep the drumming from his mind. It hadn't ever been quite so hard to ignore it while inside of her, but tonight they seemed strangely persistent. 

Bowing his head against Lucy's breast, giving up on the thrust of his hips, his lifted a hand, burying his fingers into his hair, tugging viciously as a growl rose in his throat. 

"Baby?" Lucy murmured softly, her voice slightly strained as lifted her hands, cupping his cheeks, trying to get him to look at her. "Darling, what's wrong?" 

"This incessant drumming..." He snarled against her soft skin, pulling abruptly back, stumbling off the bed, yanking at his hair now with both hands. "Can't you hear it?" 

Sitting forward, Lucy held her hand out to him. "Come on, dear...I don't hear them, now." 

"You here them sometimes, though?" He barked, lowering his hands, thrusting them out to the side as though to ward off invisible enemies. 

"Only when you're close," she whispered. "Only on occasion." 

"GAH!" He spun on his heels, rushing into the bathroom. "I don't want them to be here now! They must be silenced!" 

Leaping out of bed, Lucy rushed after him. She crossed into the master bathroom just as the Master wrenched his fist back, throwing it forward. She flinched, jumping back slightly as his knuckles cracked against the mirror, sending splinters out in all directions as blood bloomed from his knuckles. 

"Harold!" 

"That's not my name!" He shouted, spinning from the mirror, holding his bleeding hand, grinding his teeth as pain reverberated up and down his arm, crawling like a million spiders through his shoulders and back. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, stepping back, lifting a hand to his shoulder as he crumpled forward slightly, raising her other to his chest as she bent towards him. "Are you OK?" 

Let out a small grunt, he straightened, looking down at his hand. It shook slightly as he straightened his fingers, taking note of the slight purplish tinge the skin had taken on beneath the glossy blood. He smiled slightly. "The endorphins quieted them," he said, lifting his smile towards Lucy. "Injury releases endorphins in humans. There's a similar process in the brains of Time Lords. It quieted the drums." 

"Good," Lucy said softly, lifting her hands to stroke his cheeks softly. "Good..." 

Looking down at his hand it turned it over, examining carefully the place where the skin had split under impact. "Interesting...Skin...it's not so different from glass, is it?" He murmured, looking up towards the mirror. "No..." 

"Come here," Lucy said softly, taking him gently by the elbow, guiding him to the counter. "Sit down..."   
Without hesitation he sat against the counter, looking about, childlike for a moment. But he didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back in bed now that the drums had quieted. 

As Lucy returned with a first aid kit she had insisted upon buying and keeping in the house, he reached out to take it from her, setting it aside. He grabbed her hand with the fingers of his stiff and injured hand, pushing away from the counter to pull her back to the bedroom. 

"Wait-" She said, pulling back. "Your hand-" 

"It's fine," he said, turning back to her, reaching out to encircle the back of her neck with his hands, urging her forward. "I'm not going to die from it. Even if I do...there's things I can do about that, too." 

"Come on...Master," she murmured, lifting her hands to wrap them around his forearms, looking up at him, pleading. "Let me at least clean it." 

Sighing, pursing his lips, he nodded, pulling his injured hand back, offering the bleeding knuckles to her. 

Looking from the blood to the Master, Lucy blinked. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. Lifting her hand she took his, moving to go back to the first aid kit. 

"No," he said, pulling her back with the hand still wrapped about the back of her neck. "No need for alcohol and cotton balls," he murmured, smiling softly. "No need at all." 

"What do you mean?" She asked, frowning softly. 

"How does human blood taste?" He murmured, pulling her close, hiding his lips amid her messy hair, near her ear. "I hear it tastes like iron. The blood of a Time Lord is much sweeter, I assure you." 

Lifting her eyes from his bleeding knuckles, pulling back slightly to look into his, she waited a moment, studying the flecks in his irises before daring to plummet into the widened black of his pupils. In that blackness was a mess of things colliding, namely the pain throbbing in his knuckles, his arousal. But she could see it there: he was serious.   
Keeping her eyes locked on his, she bowed her lips towards his still bleeding knuckles. She could feel his blood, warm, soft, seeping along her lips as she closed her eyes, touching her tongue to the wound. 

He was right: Time Lord blood was much sweeter. 

As her lips touched his skin, as her tongue flicked against the blood, cleaning it slowly, cat like, into her mouth, he smiled more broadly, tipping his head back, taking in the dripping pleasure of her mouth on the wound. Letting out a sigh, he opened his eyes, focusing on the grain on the ceiling above him. The drums were slowly beginning to wash forward like the tide. 

"OK," he said, snatching his hand back, wrapping his fingers around her hand and yanking her back into the bedroom. "Enough." Swinging her around, he shoved her onto the bed, lifting himself onto the bed over her. Kneeling over her, he bent forward, lifting his bloodied knuckles to her cheeks to brush back the hair in her eyes, revealing her apprehension. It made him smile. 

She winced slightly, her eyes snapping shut as he leaned forward to lick the smear of blood left on her cheek from his knuckles. 

Her body's jump beneath his made him even harder as he slid his hand down, between her hot thighs, lifting his knuckles, pressing them, rubbing them against her as she closed her eyes, tipping her head back, her lips parting softly. Grinning, he bent forward, catching her lower lip with his teeth, as he might catch a piece of fruit. As she moaned softly, he released her lip, leaning close, touching his tongue gently to her lip, slipping it into her mouth as he pressed his lips to hers. 

Pulling his hand, he forced his fingers under the small of her back, thrusting her hips up to meet his, shoving himself roughly inside of her, bringing a sharp little cry from her lips as he pulled his kiss back, trailing his tongue down the pulse at her throat. He moved his hand down along her side, sliding his fingertips over the curve of her waist to her hip before trailing back up. He cupped his hand to her breast, moving his thumb over her firm nipple as he rolled himself into her against the faint beating of drums in the back of his skull. 

Yup, he thought as he pressed his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth to play along hers. _It's good to have an attractive, easily manipulated, female companion._


	6. 5. These Tables are Turned Honey

Licking his lips, the Master examined himself in the mirror across the room from his bed, straightening and re-straightening his tie. It never seemed to fall just right.

Sitting on the bed, Lucy was looking in the little, silver-backed hand-held mirror the Master had given her upon her waking. She could feel the cool, intricate designs of the back against her palm, slowly soaking up the heat of her skin. She carefully applied her lipstick, a soft, natural pink color to go with her light dress. Tucking the lipstick away, she popped her lips, batted her freshly done-up eyes and slipped the mirror into her jacket pocket.

Turning slightly on her bed, she looked up at the Master, his back turned to her, his reflected eyes showing signs of irritation with his tie. He had been doing this every morning for the past week, it seemed. He never could seem to get it just right, the way he would like it.

For a moment she sat, examining his reflection, the ever so slight tilt in his eyes.

His brow creased, his lips pursed as he examined the knot of his tie. "No no no," he muttered, clucking his tongue. "It would be far too easy for you to do as you are asked, wouldn't it?" He asked the reflection of his tie, his fingers tightening on it.

Getting to her feet, Lucy walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around him from behind as she leaned her chin on his shoulder, looking into the reflection in the mirror as she took the tie from him. "Ties are very finicky creatures," she murmured softly, undoing the tie, carefully retying it as he tilted his head to lean against hers. "They fuss often..." She said as she smoothed the tie down his chest, lifting her eyes to his in the mirror, smiling.

"Wonderful," he said with a little smile, lifting a hand, his fingers wrapping carefully around her wrist, turning to face her. Pressing his fingers against the soft, white flesh of her wrist, he lifted her hand slightly as he tilted his head, smiling down at her. She batted her eyes softly, a little grin flickering across her lips. Everything on her face would read like a charmed schoolgirl, but he could feel her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers like a dying butterfly. It drew his smile forth all the more. "Wonderful girl," he murmured softly, releasing her wrist, lifting his hands to cup her cheeks as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Beautiful, wonderful girl..."

Closing her eyes, Lucy let out a little sigh, lifting her hands to rest on his chest, all of her senses flooding to the place where his soft lips rested on her forehead. As he pulled back she opened her eyes, looking up at him, smiling. She could feel his hearts beating strong beneath her palms. Just a few days she had refused to believe that he had two hearts in his chest. Now it seemed so simply marvelous.

"You're naiveté is charming," he said with a smile.

She could feel her own grin falter slightly, not entirely sure what to make of that. But she quickly brushed it off, her smile returning with a blast as she laughed slightly, closing her eyes to feel his fingers brush her cheek as he swept some stray hair behind her ear.

"Interesting," he murmured, "how it remains still intact after seeing the future of your species."

Opening her eyes, she looked up at him, the smile on her lips feeling like plaster. "Well," she said softly, giving a little shrug. "What am I to do about it? I'm just one girl." The smile came into more ease as she lifted her eyebrows. "You're the one out to change the world. I leave that to you."

"Good girl," he said with an approving smile. "Good girl." He moved his hand up to the back of her head, pulling her close as he pressed his lips to hers.

This has been simple enough, he thought, pulling back, smiling at her. Simplicity in it's best form. Releasing her, he stepped past her, walking to the bathroom. He licked his lips. Mmm...cherry. With a smile he grabbed his coat from the hanger on the bathroom door, sweeping it over his shoulders and turning to look back at Lucy with a grin. "Diamonds fill the skies around you," he said with a smile.

Laughing slightly, she bowed her eyes, her cheeks flushing slightly. She was easy to flatter.

"Come now," he said, stepping towards her, lifting his elbow towards her. "Elections draw near. Time to ensure they vote for Harold Saxon."

With a smile, chewing her lower lip tentatively, she lifted her hand to his elbow, letting him guide her out of their huge home, feeling rather like a princess.

***

Thrumming his fingers against the podium, the Master as Harold Saxon stood before the crowd with a smile. He lifted his other hand to adjust the microphones, directing one towards his drumming fingers. He'd already spread the beat through the world, easy as dropping poison into the city's water systems. Most of the people here were squeezed tightly under his thumb - easy as seducing Lucy. There were, however, always a couple of people who seemed to just ignore every signal he sent out. Might as well get the beat in their ears just in case.

Lucy stood to his left, a step or two back from the podium, her hands folded cleanly before her, casting her eyes carefully about the room.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said into the microphones with a grin, casting his own eyes about the faces filling the room before him. "It is good to see so many eager faces here. I will get directly to my point, as I do not wish to steal too much of your time." Already the majority of the people here were returning his smiles in earnest. "I am standing here before you to tell you all that I have an aim of creating a greater Britain," he said. "With my election, I will move to restore Britain to the pedestal on which it belongs. Already, before any votes have been cast, before I have taken office, I have taken steps to bring Military recruitment to its highest in ages and bring unemployment to its lowest.

"Already I have gained our wonderful country allies around the world, allies who can't wait to see me voted in, so that I may continue to improve Britain. My goal is a more efficient Britain, a more effective British government. Unlike my competitors, I understand the difficulties you as a nation face and I know how to effectively deal with them. I will not shy away from any challenge that rises to meet me. I will run at it head on and I will defeat it for the greater good of a better Britain.

"I know, in my heart of hearts, that my goals for Britain can be achieved, and I believe that they can be achieved quickly. I want to work with the great people of this great nation to accomplish all the promises that I have made, and no one can deny that I have already been working hand-in-hand with communities all over Britain to better their stance in the country. If elected, I will do the same for the whole of Britain to better its stance in the world.

"I see commonly that my political peers dance to a different beat that I. They often hesitate to work so closely with the people of the nation, letting their cynicism prevent them from believing in them. I, however, have tremendous faith in the people.

"To conclude, I have nothing to hide from anyone in this room, anyone in this country or in this world. I look upon the acts of those whose shoes I would be filling should I be elected, and I am in awe of how easy it shall be. I will not lie to the people, or keep secrets from them. For instance, our government, and governments all over the world have been trying to sweep various encounters with alien life under the rug, and all have had varying degrees of success. I, however, believe that it is important to adapt to our changing world, to allow our minds to branch out to accept the endless possibilities the stars offer, to be willing to open the door that have already been presented to us on numerous occasions. This is just one of the many areas which I hope to improve upon, limiting governmental secrecy.

"At last, as always, it is important for every politician to recognize that they are the humble servants of the people. I accept this gratefully. I long to serve each and every one of you as best I can, and I would consider myself lucky to be elected to do so.

"Thank you." Pulling his drumming fingers from the podium, he folded his hand over his abdomen, giving a small little bow to the applauding crowd. He gave them another smile before turning to take Lucy's hand. As he lead her off stage, he turned a beaming smile towards the people, lifting a hand to wave to them as he stepped down, leaving the podium behind.

The rest of the day was filled with signing books and pictures and shaking hands and taking pictures. He and Lucy were brimming with smiles as they made their way slowly through the room towards the door. By the time they reached the huge oaken doors, several hours had passed and it was time to attend the night's party.

***

It didn't seem to take long for champagne to slosh over the brims of frosted glasses as heads were thrown back in cackling laughter. Dresses ruffled around ankles, suits wrinkled as bodies collided drunkenly, ties were pulled loose and as the night wore on entirely discarded.

Smiling, the Master gazed around at the chaotic circus of a political party. He had grown bored with the typical tightlipped button-to-the-chin political parties he'd been attending. This was much more entertaining, and he could trust entirely that no one would quite remember what had happened. It was all just some good fun.

The windows were frosted with the faint flutter of an out-of-place snow. The chandeliers above were swaying ever so slightly, as though they could hear the sound of drums, as though they just had to dance along.

He tilted his head up to watch those chandeliers sway slightly, smiling. As Lucy's hand slipped into his, her fingers tightening, he lowered his eyes, turning to face her.

Her cheeks were flushed with too much champagne. Her lips were glossed with the bubbly alcohol, her eyes dilated slightly with endorphins. As she looked up at him, meeting her eyes, her pupils widened slightly and she smiled her perfect little smile, squeezing his hand.

The Master let out a laugh amid the billowing cackles of politicians and politician's wives and mistresses and their children. He let Lucy pull him close. She tipped her mouth up to catch his. Their bodies collided, the champagne glass crashing between them, shattering and sloshing champagne down the front of her dress, his tie and undershirt.

As he felt the liquid soaking through the fabric of his shirt, he threw back his head with laughter, feeling Lucy taking him by his soaking tie and pulling him along. He heard the glass of the broken and discarded glass crunch under his shoes as he followed her wherever she liked.

"Come, Harry," she said, her voice breathy and nearly lost amid the sounds of the crowd.

Her hand collided with the nearest door: a broom closet. Turning, she stepped back, flicking the switch and pulling the Master in with her. Kicking the door shut behind him, the Master sweapt his arms around the curves of Lucy's waist, swinging her against the wall. Leaning forward with a smile, he bowed his head, closing his eyes as he touched his tongue to the beaded droplets of champagne on her breasts quivering with ragged breath. He licked away the spilled drink as Lucy's fingers grasped his jacket, pulligng it down over his shoulders.

Closing her eyes, Lucy's body was suddenly a clash of two burning feelings: the Master's hot tongue sliding along her skin and the stab of glass caught in his jacket cutting through her palm. She let out a little whimper as the master lifting his lips to hers. Opening her eyes, she held out her palm, looking at the streak of blood blooming across her flesh, dribbling down towards her wrists.

Lifting a hand, the Master took Lucy's wrist in his fingers, pulling her bleeding hand to his lips as his other hand pushed up her dress. He moved his tongue along the slick little cut in her palm, turning his eyes towards hers as his other hand worked her under wear down. Closing his eyes, pressing his lips firmly against her wound, he felt his fingers tightening into her soft skin and he sucked slightly at the blood, urging more forward. As she gave another soft little whimper, he slid his hand up, pushing his fingers inside of her, seeking that spot that made her arch her back, that made her muscles taut. The whimper soon turned to a breathy moan.

As he released her wrist, lifting his fingers to tangle them into her hair, she found his belt with her fingers, quickly undoing it and the button and zipper of his slacks. She slid her hand inside his pants, touching him softly before pushing his pants down. They fell about his ankles, and just a moment later, his hands had whipped up over her wrists, pushing her hands back against the wall.

His eyes raked hers, his lips pulled back in a small smile. He watched her for a moment, feeling her breasts rise and fall with breath against his chest. He pressed his mouth over hers as she lifted a leg around his waist, urging him forward.

Even then she could feel the bruises forming on her lips as his hungry kiss grew more and more vicious. It almost hurt as he thrust himself inside of her, but it was something that she had grown fond of.

The energy of his hips rolling against hers allowed her to lift her other leg against his side, her thighs taut against him. His body kept hers up against the wall as he nipped her tongue, her lips, as he peppered her flushed face with kisses and trailed his tongue along her jaw and neck. Every motion of his hips against hers felt like a burst of flame through her abdomen.

A burst of icy light flooded them as someone opened the door, looking for a broom to clean the broken glass on the ground.

The light stung the Master's eyes. He could feel his pupils shrinking to a pinprick as he clamped his eyes shut, turning away from the light for a moment. Lucy's chin bumped the top of his head as she, too, turned away from the harsh light.

"Oh-" Whoever had opened the door stumbled over words, frozen as though the icy light had taken all mobility from their limbs. "Uh - what - what the hell?"

Turning his head, he opened his eyes to the intruder, little more than a shadow against the abrupt light. His lips curled back in a wolfen snarl, his shoulders hunching as a cat as he continued to thrust himself up into Lucy. "CLOSE THE GODDAMN DOOR!" The words came like boiling water over his tongue.

"Oh - oh! Sorry Mister Saxon!"

The door was slammed shut, and suddenly neither Lucy nor the Master could stop their laughing as he came.


	7. 6: Rape Me

The Master sat his hand cupped over his eyes, his other rapping out the beat that had flooded forward to fill every lobe of his brain, every crack in his mind. 

A good thing had just happened: he had just been elected. But a worry had rushed upon him almost the moment it had happened. He's held up his smile for the interviews, for the reporters fighting over him like dogs over meat.   
Humans are such lowly creatures. 

His concern was the Doctor. He could practically feel the tingling at the back of his skull as the Doctor neared. The mother of the Doctor's current "companion" had come forward with a concern. 

"My daughter has gone off with a dangerous man," she had said to some anonymous secretary over the phone. "He calls himself 'The Doctor.'" 

That had gotten his attention. 

They were tracking his companion - Martha Jones, was her name - and she was with the Doctor, somewhere in time and space, somewhere before finding him in an old shell at the end of the universe. But they would find him soon, and then he would be coming here. Somehow the Doctor hadn't already gotten himself here in time to stop him from being elected - at least half of his plan would go uninterrupted. Now he just needed time to initiate it. 

Still, the Doctor was not here yet - just...soon. He should be reveling in his glory at that moment. He should be fucking Lucy like it was the last time he'd get to fuck. But he couldn't shake his worries. The Doctor had foiled him in the past, what if...? 

No, he hissed to himself. The Doctor will fall to his knees this time. He will weep at my feet. 

"Master?" 

Lifting his eyes to Lucy, he could see that he had frightened her with his expression. He could feel his eyes in their sockets, irritated, shadowed. He could feel his lips, tightly pursed, creases at their corners. He probably looked old. He probably looked old and pissed. 

"Yes?" 

"Would you like something for dinner?" She asked tentatively, trying to offer up a little smile. 

"Breakfast," he snapped. "It would be breakfast." 

"Oh." She looked up at the clock. It read five twenty eight in the morning. "I suppose it would be." 

"Sure," he muttered, sitting back in his chair, dragging his hands over his tired face. The drumming hadn't let him sleep properly for the past week or so. The fucking drum drum drumming - it's doing it, making me paranoid like this. 

"Are you OK, honey?" Lucy asked gently, approaching from behind, resting her hand on his shoulder. 

He stood so quickly the chair was knocked from beneath him. He heard Lucy cry out sharply. At that point in time he didn't know or care if it was because he'd startled her or because the chair had collided with her shins. As he whipped around, though, barely a second from his rise, she cried out again, and this time he knew precisely why.   
As the back of his hand came into hard collision with her cheek, her head snapped around and she lost her balance. She stumbled before toppling to the ground, burning tears springing to her cheek as a hot rush of pain shot through her cheekbone and jaw and her flesh, momentarily numb, was suddenly enflamed. 

He stood over her, his breath ragged as though he'd run a marathon. He looked down at her with disgust as she curled on the floor, holding her cheek, crying. 

"Stop crying." 

She couldn't seem to keep herself from it - the sobs shook her body. They were sobs of pain, of shock, of betrayal. 

"Stop crying." 

Sucking in a cold breath, she tried, but she couldn't. The tears kept coming, soaking her cheeks, dropping to the floor. 

"I SAID STOP FUCKING CRYING!" He shouted, feeling blood rush to his cheeks. "You're so fucking weak with all your fucking tears!" His foot flew out to the chair, sending it cracking across the dining room. 

Startled once more, she shot up, pulling herself against the counter, still holding her burning cheek as she watched the chair collide with the wall. 

"Goddamn it." The Master turned on his heel and stormed into the sitting room. He paced back and forth, back and forth, running his fingers through his hair again and again and again - the drumming will not stop. 

Letting out an enraged roar, he turned, his fingers setting upon the first thing presented to them, and he tore. Stuffing billowed out of the couch as he spun, striking at the air. 

As he slowly regained himself, he realized he was shaking. He held his hands out before him, his eyes narrowing on his quivering fingers. Had he been among these insolent humans too long? No, that couldn't be it - he didn't regret hitting Lucy. She shouldn't have treated him as a child, that was it. He was ages old, and had no need for doting. He was just stressed. That was all. Stress. 

He found himself by the window, looking out into the moonlit lawn, his hands folded behind his back, his chin held high as his eyes carefully crossed and examined the lawn. It would appear that he was expecting intruders. In reality, he was just breathing, steadying the nervous beat of his heart. 

Perhaps an hour passed while he stood still a stone before the window, gazing into the quiet and peaceful lawn. He turned only when he heard the soft, tentative steps of Lucy entering the room. She was as a mouse: fearful, nervous, ready to dart at any moment. 

Turning, he sent her a little grin. He noted the red welt on her cheek. It looked as though it throbbed with every pulse of her single, weak little heart. 

Her cheeks were dry now, though her eyes remained red and puffy from sobbing. They, too, had dried of tears. She stood before him, looking as fragile as porcelain, through with her crying. She just stood, expectantly. 

"Now that's a good girl," he said softly, slowly approaching her, stepping lightly so as not to frighten her away. As he came closer, he stopped, lifting a tender hand to her puffy cheek. He touched the pink skin gently, and she flinched slightly. "Shh-shh..." He said gently. "It's OK." He touched his fingers to her skin again. Compared to the flames burning beneath the surface of her wound, his fingers were chilled. "See?" He said with a tiny smile as she turned terrified eyes towards him. "It's not so bad. And look! You've stopped that ridiculous crying. Good...strong girls don't cry." 

She swallowed thickly before nodding slowly. As he reached up with other hand, she closed her eyes, apprehensive of another strike. But he just cupped her uninjured cheek, pulling her close to press a soft kiss to her forehead.   
"Come to bed," he said, finding her hand and pulling her towards the stairs. "We really should celebrate, I think."   
She let him lead her away up the stairs, curving up towards the bedroom. She closed her eyes, trying to trust her feet on the stairs without her vision, forcing herself to trust that if she slipped her would catch her easily. She allowed him to guide her, allowed his fingers to warm hers, chilled from tears drying away the heat. 

Lights on, dress off, he pushed her back onto the bed. Opening her eyes, she looked at him warily as he loosened his tie unbuttoned his shirt. 

"I don't know why I'm so tense," he said with a smile, rolling his shoulders as he took off his shirt, forcing some of the muscle between his shoulder blades to relax. "We have plenty of people keeping track of the Doctor. I know he's nearing, but...we'll know when he's coming, we'll be able to prepare. I needn't worry about it," he said, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully as he kicked off his shoes and removed his pants. 

"No," Lucy murmured, unable to force her muscles to relax. "You needn't." 

Grinning, the Master knelt over her, taking her by the wrists, pulling her up, catching her mouth with his. 

*** 

The first day on the job as prime minister seemed to be filled mostly with signing papers. He looked over most of them, signed a majority without much thought. 

In a month or two it wont matter which papers I sign and which ones I toss in the trash. 

Lucy stood by the window of his office, staring out over the people in the streets, touching the faint red mark on her cheek, covered with make-up. She stared with glassy eyes, a thoughtless mind, one hand on her cheek, one hand wrapped around her waist. 

Looking up from his desk, his lungs feeling tight the irritation of not yet being able to initiate his plans, the Master leaned back in his chair, turning to look at Lucy. "Luce," he said softly, giving her a little nod as she turned, blinking away the glaze in her eyes as she looked to him. "Come here." 

"What?" She asked softly. 

"My secretary sent this up," the Master said, holding up a packet, frowning at it. "They want me to pass it through or veto it by noon, but I don't give a fuck." 

"OK," Lucy said slowly. 

"What do you think?" He asked, handing it to her. 

Taking it hesitantly, she looked down at it. "Well...by the end of the month...will it matter at all?" 

"No," he said, leaning his elbow on his desk, perching his chin in his hand. "That's why I don't care." 

Her eyes moved up to him nervously. 

"Come now, Luce," he said, sitting up in his seat. "Honestly now. Do you think it's better to approve it or veto it?" 

"Um..." She turned her eyes down to the paper, reading it. If passed, this piece of paper in her hand would authorize an increase in military spending, mostly to pay all the new recruits that had been flooding in as a result of the Master's earlier efforts. Only those efforts were made for the purpose of getting other politicians to back him - it was easier to do things like erect the Archangle Network with them behind him. Now, as he had said, it ultimately didn't matter one way or the other, however...if he vetoed this now, there would be people questioning him. Not everyone was tapped into the various media sources he was using to keep them under control - it might only take a handful of people. 

Pursing her lips, she looked up at him and back. What would happen if she said the wrong thing? What would he do if he disagreed? 

"Well?" He asked gently, rising to his feet, moving towards her, resting his hands on her hips. "What do you say?" 

"I...uh..." She looked up at him, frightened, not wanting to speak. 

"Come, now," he said with a smile, shaking her gently. His smile faltered and he sighed. "I'll just pass it - easier that way, I think." He snatched the paper from her hand, sitting down and scrawling Harold Saxon's signature across the dotted line. 

She felt the breath rush out of her as he leaned forward, pressing the intercom button on his phone, calling his secretary. "Can you come get this paper from me and take it to the proper recipients?" 

"Yes!" Said the secretary, her voice a little too enthusiastic. 

Lucy felt her heart tighten as she looked at the Master's smiling face. It just popped out of her mouth: "I don't like her." Her eyes widened slightly and she took a small step back as the master looked up at her. What did I just do? 

"Really?" He asked, frowning down at the phone. 

"Um-" 

The door swung open and the girl walked in. She was too tall, too thin, and too pretty. She smiled too much, as well. 

"Hi!" She chirped, striding forward to take the paper. 

"When you're done," the Master said with a smile, handing the paper to her, "tell everyone not to bother me for the next hour. I have a lot of work to do." 

"OK," she said, turning to walk out. 

"Oh, and one more thing," he called, sneaking a peek at her well-shaped backside. 

"Yes?" She asked, spinning on her heel. 

"After you're done with all that," he said with a grin, "go home. Don't come back. Just dive into some chocolate ice cream or whatever it is you crazy birds do." 

"What?" Her perfect smile faltered, and Lucy felt herself smile. 

"You're fired," the Master said with a smile, standing. "Go now, go on." He swept his hand towards the door in a shooing motion. 

"But -" 

"Just go, no need to know why," he said, stepping out from behind his desk. "Go now!" 

As tears welled in the girl's eyes, she turned and hurried out, closing the door behind her. 

The Master turned to Lucy with a shrug. "If you want to laugh you can." 

It just bubbled up her throat. Lucy suddenly couldn't stop laughed. At the sound of her laughter, he laughed as well, moving forward, sweeping her up in his arms, pressing his lips to hers, even as she laughed so hard she could barely breathe. 

Sitting down in his chair, the Master looked up at Lucy as her laughter died and she lifted a hand to swipe the tears from her eyes. He smiled as he leaned forward, touching her warm thighs with her fingertips, allowing them to trail up under her skirt as he pulled her forward. 

She couldn't help but smile as he slid her under wear down, lifting a hand to unzip his pants, pulling her closer.


	8. 7. Build God

Over the past month, the Master had been spending more and more time in the TARDIS. Lucy didn't even try to understand what it was that he was doing. She'd given up on that after he tried to explain why rewiring a section of the control board would be the building block for creating a paradox machine. 

Sitting to the side, chewing and popping bubble gum, Lucy watched the Master whir around the TARDIS, thudding tools against the walls and the columns with the tap-tap-tap-TAP of the drums in his head, and he danced, clucking his tongue. 

Slowly, the TARDIS began to change. The kindly blue glow of the control column began to flicker and burn red. The re-wired wires hanging from the ceiling and strung across the grate floor sparked on occasion and made it all feel very claustrophobic. It began to give Lucy the creeping feeling of roaches on her spine, but the Master continued to insist that she come with him at night, dressed in her favorite lingerie. The more excited he seemed to grow with his TARDIS-to-paradox-machine the more often he thust her abruptly against a wall or column, quickly pulling her little lacy skirt up and her thong down, pulling open his pants and fucking her against whatever surface was nearest until her back was battered and bruised. 

A few nights before the election, though, he had seemed almost too excited to even bother trying to think about managing a rough fuck. She lay in the crook of one of the columns that split strangely in the middle, the lace of tonight's lingerie falling high on her thigh, she wound her now flavor-less gum about her pinkie finger. 

Snapping his fingers, the Master spun towards her with a big smile, holding out his hand as he sang: _"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens; Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens; Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things_ \- gum please." 

Taking the gum from her mouth, she balled it between her fingers, dropping it into his palm as he swung back towards the control column, bending to his knees and sticking his head inside, using the gum to stick three wires together. 

_"Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels; Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles; Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings; These are a few of my favorite things!"_ Leaping to his sweet he spun again, kicking the panel through which he had been working shut as he snatched up a wrench, turning and slamming it down onto the control panel. 

The TARDIS shook as he swept towards Lucy, taking her hands and pulling her down from the column, wrapping a hand around her slender waist, his other hand wrapping around hers as he danced her around the console room, his eyes locked savagely on hers, his eyes twinkling madly as he sang to her: _"Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes; Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes; Silver-white winters that melt into springs; These are a few of my favorite things."_ He spun her out, releasing her hand and looking up at the quivering red control column as the TARDIS's quivering began to grow into a manic shake. 

Spreading his hands, he stood before the column, alight like blood under the sun as he smiled, his fingers spread wide as the TARDIS began to shake more and more fiercely. _"When the dog bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things..."_

They seemed to materialize right out of the bloody, fleshy glow of the control column - distorted, twisted, gross and deathly, spinning Lucy's stomach as she grabbed onto a column to steady herself. Their glass, caterac-laced eyes twisted up, oozing silvery around the rims, red and puffy in the whites, diseased, smelling putrid as rotting flesh. 

_"...And then I don't feel...so...BAD!"_

*** 

"What are they?" Lucy had asked, hovering around his shoulders as he wired the organic beings into silvery, metal globes, tiny life-support and weaponry systems. They looked vaguely human: distorted, decomposed, but human all the same. 

"They are..." He paused, turning his head towards the ceiling as he slammed the silvery globe securely shut. "What shall I - TOCLOFANE!" He said, spinning, holding the last silver globe aloft. "They are the Toclofane," he said victoriously, releasing it into the air. 

The silver globe hovered, shuddered, almost fell, then began to glide through the air. It reminded Lucy of watching a new-born calf learn to walk. 

"What are they for?" Lucy asked softly. 

"They are for keeping the human population under control," the Master said, tapping his finger tips together as the globes whirred around each other. "Aren't they adorable?" 

"Uh..." She turned, looking up at the globes. 

One began to shudder again as it turned about. "...Master? Master?" It asked, its voice playfully child-like. 

It made Lucy nauseous. "I thought you were going to bring about a better future for humanity?" 

"It doesn't matter what I do," the Master said, moving forward, lifting a hand to touch the smooth globe of the Toclofane that had called him. "You humans will kill each other out - it's inevitable." He turned with a smile to Lucy. "Your species is so wonderfully war-like, so beautiful hateful! I'll just bring it about sooner...Like putting a broken stallion out of its misery." He laughed, turning back towards the Toclofane. "That is right," he murmured. "I am your Master..." 

"When are you going to...use them?" Lucy asked softly. 

Turning, the Master lifted his eyebrows. "Hm?" 

"The...the Toclofane...when-?" 

"After I eradicate the cabinet," he said with a smile. "Then he will have to come..." 

"But...you mean, this Doctor guy?" Lucy asked. 

"Yes," he said, lifting a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair back from her eyes. "If he's going to doddle about I'll just force him to me." He gave her a little smile. 

"But..." Swallowing thickly, she turned her eyes down, shaking her head, listening to the Toclofane as they darted about the room, becoming more comfortable in their new surroundings. 

"What?" The Master asked, cupping her chin, lifting her eyes to his. "Tell me what it is you think." 

"I just..." She swallowed again, her eyes flicking to one of the Toclofane as it flicked out long, sharp spines from its smooth surface. "I was just thinking...wouldn't it be better to let it happen in time? I mean...if the Doctor is in another place and time...we can't force it, can we?" 

His smile faltered for a moment, and Lucy felt her stomach tighten. But, the smile returned, brighter and bigger than before. "Right - I'm in such a rush! All good things take time," he said, spinning to look at the Toclofane. "Return to where you come from!" He snapped at them. "Prepare the rest of your kind as I have prepared you. Be quick." 

"Yes, Master," one chirped in its little voice. 

They wavered in the air a moment before melting away into nothingness before their eyes. 

"Brilliant," the Master said with a smile, turning to Lucy. "Good girl...I mustn't be in a hurry!" He lifted a hand, lightly patting her cheek before continuing downstairs for a snack. 

*** 

First day on the job, the day after elections...first secretary fired, new one found. But the Master was a buys man today. 

"Mr. Saxon, there's a girl here to interview for the secretary position-" A woman said as the Master passed her, walking towards his office. 

"Send her in," he said with a motion of his hand in the air. He closed the door behind him, moving to his desk and unlocking the bottom drawers. He pulled out a couple of black devices resembling conference call speakers. Setting them on his desk, he sat down, popping one open and looking inside. 

A moment there was a knock at the door. Without looking up he said briskly, "Come in!" 

As the girl walked in, he continued to concentrate on the object in his hand. He twisted a gear and peered underneath it with a curt little nod before putting the whole thing back together again. 

"Um...Hi, Mr. Saxon." 

Lifting his eyes to the girl, the Master smiled, getting to his feet. She was pretty, with her dark skin and her curly hair and her resume clutched nervously to her chest. "And what is your name?" He asked, still holding the black object in his hands. 

"I'm Tish Jones," the girl said. "You had someone call me yesterday - they said that you wanted to see me about the job?" 

"Oh! Oh yes," he said with a smile and a nod. Martha Jones's sister, he thought gleefully, walking around his desk. 

As he approached Tish, she held her hand out to shake his, but he just held up the thing in his hand. 

"What would you say this is?" He asked Tish, holding it out to her. 

Pursing her lips, lifting her eyebrows slightly in confusion, she tucked her application and resume under her arm to take it. She turned the thing over in her hand. "It looks like a speaker," she said. 

"Good!" He said happily, snatching it back. "Good good good!" He turned, returning to his desk to grab up the other imitation speaker. 

"Um...here," Tish said, approaching him as he turned on his heel, holding out her application and resume. "I wasn't sure if you wanted-" 

"Oh, psh!" He said, taking the papers and tossing them behind him as he smiled. "You're already hired. Now come with me!" 

Tish stood frozen in her place for a moment as he marched out of the room, unsure of how to react to the moment. Had the prime minister of Britain just tossed her application and resume into the air? He hadn't even bothered to set it on his desk- 

"Miss Jones!" He called from out side of his office. "Come, now!" 

Turning on her heel, she darted after him. 

Winding down a hall to the new cabinet room, speakers in hand, the Master kicked open the door as though a battle had been won, and with a smile he hurried to the table. "Tell me, Tish!" He said, coming to a skidding stop beside the table. "Where would these look best?" He set the speakers down in the center of the table, looking down along its length. 

"Um..." She moved forward through the door, looking at the table. "Mr. Saxon - there are already speakers here." 

"Oh. Right." He reached forward, grabbing the speakers and tossing them to the floor. Giving the table a smile, he looked up at Tish. "That's better. Now where do you think these should be placed? What would you say is more aesthetically pleasing?" He moved the speaker to within a few inches of each other in the center of the table. "Or should one be on each end of the table?" 

"Um..." She frowned slightly from the Master to the table. "I would say on each end of the table...It's probably be better for the sound, you know? It's be more spread through the room-" 

"Right!" The Master laughed. "It is a bunch of old men gathering here," he said, still laughing as he moved the speakers to within a foot of each end of the table. 

Giving a little smile, Tish looked at the Master as he straightened, looking at the table with a strange sort of pride. 

"Anything else I can do?" 

"Yeah," he said, motioning to the speakers he'd tossed aside. "Get rid of those, and can you bring me some tea?" 

"Yes, Mr. Saxon," she said. "What kind of tea would you like?" 

"Green," he said, moving towards the door. "All those antioxidants - they're supposed to be wonderful for you!" 

"Yes, sir," Tish murmured as he headed out of the cabinet room and back to his office. 

In his office, the Master shut the door behind him, moving towards his desk, rubbing his hands gleefully together, a smile on his face. "I can't wait!" He said with a little skip as the Toclofane began to materialize in the corners of the room. "Can you wait, pretties?" He asked, turning to each floating globe in turn. "Oh - I can see it now!" He spread his hands before his eyes, as though envisioning the great art of the world filling the office. "The cabinet members strewn around the table, poisonous gasses having filled their lungs to the absolute brim, until their fat, wrinkly asses have keeled over for good!" 

The phone on his desk beeped and Tish's voice came across the intercom. "Mr. Saxon, your wife is here." 

"Send her in!" He said with a smile, straightening up, lifting a hand to his tie, loosening and tightening it again. 

A moment later Lucy came in, closing the door behind her before anyone outside saw the floating silver globes in her husband's office. "Who is that?" He hissed, motioning to the door to indicate Tish, making tea just outside. 

"My new secretary," he said, straightening his tie as he walked towards her. "I set up the 'speakers' in the cabinet room - I can't wait to see them all slumped in their chairs tomorrow!" 

"OK, yay," Lucy spat, her eyes narrowing on the Master as he approached her, lifting his hands to her shoulders. "Why did you hire her?" 

The Master laughed, shaking his head. "Don't argue with me, sweetie," he said, lifting his eyebrows as he forced her back against a wall. "You remember how I am when I'm angry?" 

Swallowing thickly, Lucy kept her eyes locked on the Master's as he pushed up her skirt. "Yes," she murmured, "I'm sorry, it's just-" 

"The first time you were jealous, it was cute," that smile stuck to his face like a mask as he pulled her underwear down, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. "Now, it's not so flattering." 

"I'm sorry-" 

"Yes," he said, leaning forward, brushing her lips with his. "You are. It's OK - I understand that you humans are simple, petty creatures. You're like the cockroaches of the universe: you are pests, but no matter how long anyone spends stomping you, you just never keep dead. There is always another one, somewhere, making more of you." He lifted a hand, brushing her hair back from her eyes as he pressed his hips against hers, waiting a moment as he lowered his hand around her neck. "You are lowly creatures, not well evolved, all of those hassling emotions knotted inside...that...jealousy." On the last, hissed syllable he thrust himself inside of her, smiling as she closed her eyes, a small gasp escaping her lips as he tightened his hand slightly on her neck. 

"Yes," she moaned softly, opening her eyes, looking up at him. "I'm sorry...I don't know what I was thinking." 

"I don't know, either," he said with a small smile, kissing the tip of her nose as he rolled his hips against hers, pushing deeper, releasing her neck. 

Turning her cheek against the wall, Lucy opened her eyes, feeling the Master's lips on her neck, feeling his tongue tasting her skin as he pushed inside of her, filling her up, and there, in the corners of the room, floated the Toclofane, those rotting human faces capturing inside of nearly indestructible metal, watching. 

"Master," she moaned, closing her eyes as heat spread from between her legs upwards and out, as with each thrust of his hip a burning ripple pleasantly struck out through her nerves. 

"Yes, sweetie?" He asked, lifting his head, a listless smile on his face, his eyes looking glazed as he pressed his body against hers. 

"Make them go away," she murmured, nodding towards the Toclofane. "I don't want them watching-" 

"But I do," he said with a grin, lifting a hand, cupping her chin, making her look at him. "I enjoy it." 

"Please?" She asked, looking up at him, pleading. Their presence made her spine want to curl into a ball, made her skin want to rot as theirs had. 

The blow to her cheek sent an explosion through her eyes, bursts of red and white while her ears rang, deafening the sound of the door opening. She let out a small sob as he thrust his hips up so hard the joints of her hips felt about to shatter. 

"I said no," he hissed, turning his eyes toward the door, having barely heard it open over the smack of his knuckles against her cheek. His dilated eyes rested on the young man standing there, shocked not only to have walked in on Mr. Saxon have sex with his wife, but also having walked in on Mr. Saxon striking his wife so hard a ribbon of blood sprouted over her cheek bone. "Come in, boy," the Master growled. 

It was as though he couldn't refuse. He wanted to turn and run out, but his feet moved forward, his hands shut the door behind him, locked it. 

Feeling Lucy's body shaking viciously against his, her breasts heaving with sobs, he lifted a hand, his knuckles red from the blow, and motioned to the Toclofane. "Kill him." 

There wasn't chance for a scream to erupt from the boy's throat before he collapsed into a burning pile of embers under a shot from the Toclofane. 

Turning his eyes back to Lucy, the Master leaned forward, pressing his tongue to her cheek, following the trail of blood up to the place where her skin had split under the impact of his strike. He liked the taste of her blood, he had discovered. Plus, it made him smile to see her shudder as it registered in her mind that he had just licked it up. 

"Now," he hissed, leaning his hot, flushed lips against her ear, closing his eyes as he continued to roll his hips rhythmically against her, pushing in, pulling back just enough to push in again as he lifted a hand to the wall beside her face, letting his fingers rap out the drums there. "Stop...crying." 

Biting her lips, she closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath, feeling her throat burning with tears as every nerve in her face throbbed viciously. 

"Good, good girl," he said, pulling back, lifting his other hand to tenderly stroke her blonde hair, leaning forward to nuzzle softly against her neck, closing his eyes. "Good girl...No crying, now...no crying..."


	9. 8. Voodoo Child

Lucy had forced herself to give a little smile as the Master had chucked his new secretary's chin playfully, telling her to just stand there and look pretty. She did her best to make it look like she thought it was cute, and the Master new it. He was just glad that they'd managed that cut on her cheek - it just wouldn't do to have the first lady of Britain battered up now...now that the Doctor was so close.

The Doctor was near by...the Doctor was here - he could feel it. He could practically smell the Doctor on the air, feel him as though he were in the room...

_Doctor, Doctor, Doctor...Where are you now, my Doctor?_

Words pounded through his mind along side the drums inside his skull as he sat, beating the desk rhythmically, riding out the poison gasses he'd stet up in the speakers the day before with his gas mask. The oxygen pumped up his nose and down his throat was icy - it made him float, even as his eyes dragged slowly, almost lethargically, over the bodies of the cabinet.

They hadn't understood what he had meant calling them traitors. They should have. Fucking politicians...Doctor's too late on this...this one...

Closing his eyes, he listened to his fingers on the table: 

_taptaptapTAP..._

_Doctor..._

By the end of the day, the Doctor would be a fugitive, along with his little "companion" Martha Jones and...Captain Jack Harkness.

He'd been watching the Captain since he'd arrived in this place on this planet. He knew the man had an affinity for the Doctor...Too much of an affinity, actually...he had, after all, showed up at the end of the universe with the Doctor's hand in his pack.

_How sick is that?_

Behind his mask, he laughed softly.

"Toclofane," he murmured behind the mask, lifting his eyes as the metallic orbs materialized, a blue glimmer showing through where their materialization disrupted space and time. "Clean up this mess," he said, motioning to the bodies. "Clear out the gasses in here."

"Yes, Master..."

"Yes Master..."

"Master..."

"My Master..."

Smiling up at them, he scrunched up his nose, laughing softly. "I simply adore you guys!" Standing, he sucked in a deep breath of the oxygen. Something was happening - he couldn't wait here any longer.

Holding in his breath, he removed the mask and headed for the door, leaving the Toclofane to their business only to find a report (mischief maker) trying to coarse Lucy...By the morning, no one would be so brash.

***

That night, the Master lay with Lucy in bed, touching the place on her cheek where the bruise was obvious now that she'd removed the pinching fiber-flesh band-aide found in the medical supplies of the TARDIS. It was surrounded with deep bruises ranging from blue and purple to yellow and green.

Lucy was deep asleep, and after applying pain-killing cream to the cut before going to bed, he could touch the wound without rousing her. So he did.

Propped up on his elbow, the Master traced a finger tip across the cut, pondering what she probably thought of him. He lightly trained the back of his finger over her cheek, leaning forward to bury his nose in her hair, closing his eyes.

Truth was, he might actually care a little about what she thought of him. But only a little. In any case, these strikes, these bruises - they were good for her. They made her strong. They helped her learn to not cry. They helped her...learn.

But he - he could not sleep. Victorious thoughts of the Jones family being brought to him in handcuffs skipped through his mind. Images of the American president danced in his head: the president, gruff and as unkempt as a hyena with mange. That's what Americans were...hyenas with mange. He was glad to have been trapped in Britain, and not America. Britain had been kind to him. Britain had brought him to his peek. Britain... _A better Britain!_

He couldn't wait to watch the American president collapse in a pile of still-burning ashes on the Valiant.

_Oh, Valiant,_ the Master thought as he eased himself down onto the mattress beside Lucy, smiling to himself as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him. _Just as much my child as the Toclofane._

He couldn't wait to see the sky shred as the Paradox Machine was triggered and all of the Toclofane possibly imaginable billowed through in great, gleaming clouds, rippling with their little lights and spinning with lasers and blades. He licked his lips at the thought of it. And he had the perfect song to set it to... _Voodoo Child._

"Sing to me, baby, baby, baby," the Master murmured into Lucy's thick hair, a small smile on his face as he closed his eyes.

Dream-like, Lucy's soft, sleeping voice rustled on the air like leaves in the wind: _"You're like Voodoo baby; your kisses are cold; Feel your poison running through me; Let me never grow old..."_

Smiling, he fell into sleep, toppled into dreams like an out-of-place stop-motion-fantasy.

_Doctor Doctor Doctor Lucy...Sleeping on along silent strings bringing forth your dreams..._

_And here they come - the sound of drums!_


	10. 9: Without You...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *As far as I'm concerned, this is by far the best chapter. But that's just me...

  
Author's note: *As far as I'm concerned, this is by far the best chapter. But that's just me...  


* * *

And so it came to pass that the human race fell

and the earth was no more

and I looked down upon my new dominion

as Master of all

and I thought it

good

The Master had sent Lucy away. He wanted to be alone with the Doctor. The Doctor...so old and shriveled and weak now. His bones might crumble beneath the slightest touch. 

Lifting his eyes towards the Doctor, the Master sighed. He felt...pity. 

The Man sat there in his chair, his wrists tied to the arms. He'd almost felt bad tying the old man's wrists, but he had to. He knew that when he did just precisely what he wanted to, the Doctor would try to turn the tables. He could aggravating like that - never just let things be. 

"Doctor," the Master said softly, his voice lilting as he tapped his laser screw driver to his lower lip. "Doctor, lift those old, tired eyes of yours." 

He acted like he hadn't heard the Master. He kept his head deeply bowed, his chin against his chest, his eyes closed. 

Moving forward with a sigh, the Master stretched out a hand, resting his palm on top of the Doctor's head. The bare skin below his finger tips felt warm, coarse with just wisps of white hair, the texture rather like tissue paper. 

"Come now, Doctor," the Master said softly, his voice barely audible in the bowls of the Valiant. "Why wont you look at your old friend?" 

Still, no response. 

Pulling back his hand, kneeling, the Master peered up into the Doctor's face, aged a hundred years. Crippled. Withered. Useless. Even as he wanted desperately to laugh at the man, he couldn't even muster a smile. 

Lifting a hand, he brushed the Doctor's crumpled cheek with his finger tips. "Would you like to be young again?" He asked softly. "Young and strong and virile..." He gently pressed the back of his hand to the Doctor's cheek as the mans eyes tightened, his brow drawing into a pained frown. "Soft skin...smooth..." Withdrawing, the Master leaned back on his haunches, sighing, tilting his head to the side. He lifted his laser screwdriver, flicking a switch with his thumb, pressing a button. 

The reversal looked almost as painful as the aging. He wanted to enjoy it, but it wasn't the same as it had been earlier. Now, as the Doctor's body flailed and twitched and writhed before him, chained into a wheelchair, he just watched, no smile, no gleaming eyes: nothing. 

Pulling his thumb from the button, the Master tipped the point of the laser screwdriver to the ceiling with a sigh.   
Slumped forward in the chair, his body shivering, the Doctor groaned softly, weary from it all. He couldn't pick up his shoulders. Still, there was something about him that wasn't quite defeated yet. 

Moving forward, slipping his laser screwdriver into his pocket, the Master lifted a hand, pushing his fingers into the Doctor's thick, dark hair, pressing his head back, forcing him to look up. "Open your eyes, Doctor," the Master hissed as he rose to feet, leaning close. "Look at me." 

Slowly, the Doctor opened his eyes and he looked up into the Master's. He gnawed the inside of his cheek as he did so, his lips trembling, his fingers ferociously kneading the arms of the wheelchair he was chained to. 

Looking into the Doctor's big, brown eyes, rimmed with long, dark lashes, the Master felt a smile flutter across his lips. "Oh, Doctor," he murmured, releasing his grip on the Doctor's hair. "You look so, so different, Doctor..." He shook his head slightly, pulling back. He felt his eyes stinging as he looked into the Doctor's blood-shot, tear stained eyes. "You are so different, Doctor." 

"As are you," the Doctor murmured softly, watching the Master withdraw, watching as his enemy lifted a hand, curling his fingers against his lips. "It has been a long time." 

"Too long," the Master said, hearing a quiver in his voice. "You have no idea how I feel right in this moment - this moment in time!" He raised and spread his hands, smiling broadly. "THIS MOMENT IN TIME!" He billowed, laughing, closing his eyes so that a couple of tears rolled down his cheeks. They were hot. "This moment in time...that will be dead in another moment. Dead." 

The Doctor looked down at his wrists, tugging at them, wanting to writhe free. The Master had changed. He seemed...crazier than the last time they had met. 

Somewhere near he could hear the sounds of Jack being tortured, trying not to scream but unable to hold it in forever. 

Suddenly, the Master was close again, lifting his hands to the Doctor's cheeks, drawing his eyes again. "Doctor..." 

"What?" The Doctor hissed, his vision blurred, clouding over with tears, his voice crackling. "What?" 

Leaning down, pulling his face close to the Doctor's, the Master looking into his eyes, lpis slightly parted. He sat there for a moment, just staring into the deaths of the Doctor's eyes. "Use my name," he said softly, his voice barely audible. 

Lowering his gaze, the Doctor closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. 

"Doctor," the Master whispered, taking the Doctor by the chin, forcing his face up. He touched his nose to the Doctor's, gently nuzzling him. "Come on Doctor...I so like it when you say my name...why wont you say it?" 

As the Master tipped his lips towards the Doctor's, the Doctor closed his eyes shut, his lips curling back in a little snarl. "Master..." 

"Good boy," the Master said, pulling back, releasing his chin to lightly pat the Doctor's cheek. 

"Now...Doctor...Gallifrey-" 

"I told you," the Doctor groaned, keeping his eyes down, sickened when he looked up at the Master. "It's gone - burned." 

"All the Time Lords with it, yes," the Master said, nodding, stroking the Doctor's knee. "Pity...I so would love to see the suns rise...and set..." His voice trailed dreamily as he closed his eyes, letting out a softy sight. "I wish I could see the sky again. The glint of it on the leaves...on the mountains." 

Lifting his eyes slightly, the Doctor looked through his lashes at the Master. His hand had stilled its stroking, and he sat on one knee, his eyes closed, his lips softly parted as he thought back on his home planet. 

"Oh, Doctor," he murmured, opening his eyes, turning them to the Doctor. "I am so homesick..." His voice was small, soft. "I want to go home, Doctor." 

Swallowing thickly, the Doctor shook his head. "You can't." 

"You and your fucking rules," the Master spat, his face contorting in disgust as his fingers tightened on the Doctor's knee. "You could go home! You could see your children - you could see Susan again!" His jaw was tight, the muscle popping under his skin. His eyes shimmered in the faint light as he released the Doctor's knee. "If you would break the rules...we could go home! We could save them-" 

"You don't care," the Doctor hissed. "You don't..." Closing his eyes, he turned his face away. If I broke the rules...So much could be done if the rules were cast aside.

"What was her name?" The Master asked softly, lifting a hand to brush away a tear rolling down the Doctor's cheek, a tear already cooled by the icy air. "The girl...I can see her...I can see her in your eyes..." He smiled, tipping his head to the side slightly. "Oh, Doctor...what was her name?" 

Closing his eyes, turning his face away, the Doctor felt his cheeks burning then freezing as tears spilled out over his cheeks. Suddenly, the remnants of hope were gone. Lost, forever. 

"Her name was Rose," he whispered, opening his eyes. 

"Rose..." The Master murmured, crouching at the Doctor's feet, a child eager to hear more fairy-tales. "Rose... a beautiful name..." He smiled, his hands resting on the Doctor's knees. "She was beautiful?" 

"More beautiful than the suns," he murmured softly. 

"More beautiful than Gallifrey at dawn?" 

"Far more..." He opened his eyes as a scream echoed from somewhere above as Jack faded, his body failing, dying. 

"Tell me about her," the Master said, reaching up to touch the Doctor's chest. "Tell me." 

"She looked into the heart of the TARDIS," the Doctor whispered, feeling himself fade as his eyes dropped to the metal floor. "She absorbed the time vortex...she absorbed space and time for me...She should have died." 

"She was strong?" The Master asked, leaning his chin against the Doctor's knee, looking up at him, examining his profile, his sharp nose, his softly freckled skin gleaming in the light, dusted with sorrow and pain and hopelessness, his long lashes studded with crystal-tears. 

"She was," the Doctor murmured. "I...lost her...I lost her." His voice choked, cracked, and his body trembled as a sob shattered through his chest. 

As the Doctor closed his eyes and bowed his head, his face contorted with the uncontrollable power of the sobs ravaging him, still weak from the aging, the de-aging. 

Lifting his head, the Master stood, reaching out to touch the Doctor's head. He could feel all the longing, all the wanting bursting and crackling in the Doctor's entire being - longing just to see Rose again, wanting just to finish telling her... 

Cupping the Doctor's soaked cheeks, lifting his face, the Master bent forward, pressing his lips to the Doctor's. He could feel them, soft but cold, trembling and weak beneath his. He could feel the Doctor's body give way, slouch down into the chair, held up only by the his hands on his cheeks. He pulled back, just a moment, before pressing his lips back, tasting the tears as he kissed the Doctor. 

Finally, the Doctor jerked away, turning away and bowing his head, his body still crippled with tears. 

Standing straight, the Master lifted a hand to his lips, lightly touching his fingertips to them: moist with tears and saliva. "Oh, Doctor," the Master murmured, watching his enemy quiver below him, weaker than he had ever been before. "Tell me more about her." 

"Leave...leave me alone..." The Doctor gasped between sobs, lifting his eyes back towards the pipes behind him, as though he wanted to break free and hide among them, a metal jungle. He craned his head so far the Master feared he would break his neck. 

Reaching forward, the Master gently took hold of the Doctor's chin, pulling his head back around. "Now don't go hurting yourself," the Master whispered, leaning his ears towards the Doctor ear, closing his eyes. He could feel the Doctor's breath, chilled, on his neck. It sent little electric shivers down his spin. "You'll be old again, soon, and your body wont be able to handle it." 

"Please..." The Doctor sobbed, letting his head fall forward against the Master's shoulder. "Please...just leave...me..." 

"Shh..." The Master whispered softly, lifting an arm around the Doctor's shoulder, bringing his hand up to stroke the Doctor's hair. "Shh...there is no need to cry, my dear Doctor." 

"Please..." 

"You cry more than my wife," the Master said, pulling back, cupping the Doctor's cheeks again as he looked down at him. "But...right at this moment...I can't seem to bring myself to make you stop." The Doctor's eyes seemed huge, glimmering in the darkness, black holes ready to suck him in, eat him alive and shred at every particle in his body until he was entirely unaware, incapable of being put back together. Closing his eyes, leaning his forehead against the Doctor's, the Master stroked his tear-flooded cheeks, shaking his head softly. "You are so desperate, now..." 

He could no longer talk. He struggled to simply breathe as the Master gently touched his cheeks, pulling back to look down on him, almost truly sympathetic. 

"If you could have her back-?" 

Shaking his head, the Doctor thrashed against his restraints crying out miserably, his lungs feeling as though they would collapse in, his throat feeling about to shred. And yet he couldn't stop the terrible, agonized scream ripping through him.

"Shh, now, shh..." The Master said softly, putting his fingers to the Doctor's lips as the scream died. "You wont be able to speak, soon," he murmured. "Your voice will die with all that screaming." 

He could no longer scream. The breath in his lungs was ragged, cold and hot all at the same time. His skin tingled. The only feeling that was solid was the Master's fingers on his lips. Why was he doing this? 

"I want you to be able to talk, Doctor," the Master said. "I want to hear more of Rose..." He closed his eyes, pulling back, swaying slightly where he stood. "She had blonde hair," he murmured, "and her lips..." He smiled, opening his eyes faintly, his vision unfocused as he turned it towards the Doctor. "Her lips were perfect...Sweet and soft and lush...And her eyes, Doctor? Big and dark...like a doe. She was a doe, wasn't see? A pale, perfect doe..." 

The Doctor bent forward, his head almost to his knees as he tried to suck in a breath. He didn't know how the Master could see her in his mind. He didn't want to - he just wanted him to stop. 

"Her body was...mmm..." The Master licked his lips, sighed, letting his eyes roll back. "Full of curves...full breasts, round hips...legs like an angel..." He felt dizzy. Maybe he, like the Doctor, was hyperventilating, he just wasn't aware. 

"Please..." The Doctor's voice came out barely a rasp as the word fought against his lack of coherent breath. "Please..." 

"OK," the Master said, re-focusing his eyes on the Doctor. He could hear the man's heart beating erratically, madly. That was no good. _I'll take pity on you, old friend._

Moving forward, he stepped behind the Doctor, leaning forward, wrapping his arms around the Doctor's shoulders as he rested his cheek against the Doctor's ear. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, pressing his hand against the Doctor's chest to feel it quiver as he tried to control his breathing. "It's OK...it's OK..." He hummed softly, rocking the Doctor back and forth, breathing softly against his cool cheek. _"Hush-a-bye don't you cry; When you wake you shall have All the pretty little horses; Blacks and bays, dapple grays; Coach and six white horses. Hush-a-bye don't you cry..."_

Sniffling, the Doctor shuddered as the Master's voice penetrated his skin, seeping into his pores and spreading through his blood. He wanted to lift a hand, to brush the tears from his eyes, to wipe at his nose. His face felt like ice under the weight of the tears in the cold underbelly of the Valiant. 

Rising, walking around to face the Doctor said, the Master lifted his hand, softly brushing away the tears at the Doctor's cheeks. Crouching down again, he pulled the end of his shirt up over his thumb, lifting it to brush away under the Doctor's nose. "There, there," he murmured, his eyes watching the Doctor as the man sat trembling before him, refusing to meet his eyes. "There, there..." Standing, he reached into his pocket as he leaned down, pressing his lips once more to the Doctor's. 

Closing his eyes as the Master kissed him, the Doctor felt the tip of the laser screwdriver under his chin. He let the Master kiss him, kissed him back...needing to delay the physical torment the device would bring crashing down on his weakened body.


	11. 10. Sleep

Lucy opened her eyes, lifting her head from her pillow. She had hear the Master's voice, heard to roll of wheels on the floor. 

Through the crack in the door she saw the Master pushing the old and frail Doctor past, towards the room they had decided to keep him in. 

Rolling over, she sat up, watching the door, waiting. She heard the door ease shut, and thought that the Master would come skipping in shortly after. But he didn't. 

*** 

The Master lay down beside the Doctor on the bed, folding his hands over his chest and looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. "You wont stay here, forever, you know," the Master murmured, turning to look at the Doctor, laying stiffly beside him, also staring up at the ceiling. "There's another room being prepared for you."   
Once again, the Doctor refused to respond. He stared up at the ceiling with old, watery eyes, his breath coming rough, through a taut and sore throat as he tried his best not to cry another tear. 

"You could sleep forever," the Master murmured, propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at the Doctor. "You could, you know...how must that feel? To just...dream?" 

The Doctor closed his eyes, turning his head away. 

"Aw..." Reaching out, the Master touched his face softly, the skin feeling once again as tissue paper, about ready to split beneath his fingers. "You are so sad, Doctor," he murmured. "Just lay...sleep...dream of Rose. Dream of Martha. Hope she'll save you." Leaning down, closing his eyes, he softly kissed the Doctor's cheek before rising to his feet, straightening his jacket and heading out the door, closing it softly behind him. 

As he entered his room, pushing the door open, light fell over Lucy, her body looking small in their ocean of silk-sheets and queen-sized bed. He smiled as his shadow fell over her, darkening her pale features, and he moved forward. "Throw that silk aside, darling," he said, loosening his tie, discarding it along with his jacket, his shoes. "I am so fucking hard I can't stand it." 

*** 

Maybe he would calm down, even just a little, now that he had all the power he wanted. That was what she told herself. She hoped it might be true. He had only ever hit her those two times, and yet she had seen the threat flitting behind his eyes so often. It frightened her. Now it seemed safe. He seem more placid. His anger centered on the Doctor. 

"Why won't you look at me?" The Master shouted, it seemed every couple of hours. 

He tormented the poor man endlessly. She saw him, once, aiming his screwdriver into the Doctor's face, his own cheek flushed as though he'd been struck. "I'll do it," he'd been hissing. "Would you like to feel that, Doctor? Look at me!" 

She never questioned it. Around her he seemed to become more and more tender with every passing day, the more verbally and physically violent he became with the Doctor. And every night he pounded into her, forcing her to come and come and come again until she thought she wouldn't be able to walk the next day.   
Laying curled in her silk sheets, Lucy ran her fingers over the smooth pillow, liking the way her nails felt as they trailed over the fabric. She felt the bed sink slightly as the Master sat down beside her, and she smiled, rolling over to look up at him. 

Smiling down at her, the Master gave a soft little laugh before leaning down, pressing his lips to hers. "How are you feeling, my love?" He asked softly, touching the tip of his nose to hers. 

"Much better," she murmured, closing her eyes to enjoy the feeling of his lips caressing her cheeks, her neck. 

"Good, good..." He murmured, nuzzling her neck as he lay down beside her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "I got you a dress," he said, closing his eyes as he rested his head against her shoulder. 

She could feel his smile against her skin. It drew a grin to her lips as she opened her eyes, turning slightly to look at him. He looked peaceful just then. "You did?" She asked. 

"Oh yes," he said, opening his eyes, lifting them to her. "It's gorgeous, but of course...it will look much better on you than on a mannequin." He smiled. His smiles were so charming. 

"What's it look like?" She asked, rolling onto her back as he sat up, lifting a hand to brush her hair from her face. 

"Long and red," he said with a smile, trailing his fingers down her cheek. "Silk. Low cut." His smile broadened. "I wanted to give it to you when you were feeling a bit better." 

Offering him a smile, Lucy reached up to touch his cheek. He grinned softly as he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. 

The moment seemed almost normal, almost real. Like they were two average humans, not a Time Lord who had taken rule of the world and his human companion. It seemed like a moment for kissing, a moment for soft words and tender touches and smiles. 

Getting to his feet, the Master skipped to the closet. He'd hidden the dress in the back while she'd been in the bathroom. She'd gotten sick with the flu and hadn't had the strength to get up save for going to the bathroom, so it had been safe in the closet. 

His fingers set on the fabric and he swung it loose, turning on his heel, holding up to show her, obviously proud of himself at having gotten her such a thoughtful gift. 

"Oh, it's beautiful," she murmured softly, a smile touching her lips as she sat up in bed, lifting a hand to her chest as she looked at the dress. It didn't look much like something she would wear often, but she certainly couldn't deny that it was gorgeous. 

"I was hoping that you might wear it tonight," he said, sitting back down on the bed, laying it against her breasts, lifting a finger to tap her chin lightly as she looked down at the perfect fabric. 

"For what?" She asked, feeling the dress, slick and cool between her fingers. 

"Just something I was hoping to do," he said with a smile. "It will be fun." 

Lifting her eyes to him, she couldn't help her continued smile. "Really? What is it?" 

"I'll tell you this much," he said, leaning forward, pressing his lips to her ear. "It's kinky." 

She gave a small, curious frown as he got off the bed, giving her a little finger-wave before vanishing out of the room again, leaving her to put on the dress, to twirl in front of the mirror like she was a little girl again, wearing mummy's red shoes and pearls. 

*** 

The Doctor was slumped by a window, looking out on the destruction of the world, painfully incapable of doing anything to stop it. 

Somewhere down there, amid the chaos, the mess and disaster, Martha was running, hiding, learning, whispering words to the huddled masses. He closed his eyes and hoped for her. 

Hope...it seemed like such...nothingness. 

A hand rested on the Doctor's shoulder. He knew by the weight, by the grip that it was the Master. He had a way of touching that was familiar. A way of communicating in his fingertips. 

Bending down, the Master looked out the window over the Doctor's shoulder, giving a smile. "Oh, my..." He murmured, giving a little wink as toclofane rushed by the windows, burning the earth. "They are so good at this, aren't they?" He knew by now that the Doctor wasn't going to respond, and no amount of threats, no kind of threat could force him to. "Well...what do you say? Tomorrow, let's watch Bejing burn." 

If he closed his eyes, the Doctor could almost hear the screaming so far below. 

"I'll fuck Lucy on the deck," he murmured, leaning his lips close to the Doctor's ear. "In the smoke...in the smell of the fire, and burning flesh. And you'll watch." He smiled. He could hear the Doctor grinding his weary teeth. Closing his eyes he stood straight, lifting his arms out to the side, spreading his fingers. "I feel so like a God," he whispered to no one in particular. "I feel so like a god..." 

*** 

The Master took Lucy's hands, dancing her around the main room of the Valiant, the room where the last president of the United States had been annihilated. She had her read dress on, the one that was so low cut, with the soft and slippery red silk. 

Pulling her close against his body, he spun them together through what felt like an eternity of music, pressing a smile to her ear. 

Opening his eyes, he cast a glance to the Doctor as they still their spinning and he began to dance Lucy around the table. He turned his eyes next to the sister of Martha Jones - Tish. She was pretty, that Tish. 

"You," he said, lifting his head, nodding to Tish. "Roll that into my room," he said, motioning to the Doctor.   
Lucy's eyes ticked up to him, to see him follow the Doctor with a smile. "What for?" She asked, frowning softly. 

"Just some child's play," he said, bowing his lips to hers, closing his eyes. 

As he nuzzled her cheek, Lucy could feel his lashes batting against her skin. It made her smile while her insides coiled over and over each other, trying to eat away at themselves. "You...you don't mean - ?" 

"I want him to watch," the Master said, lowering his head to rest it on her shoulder, his arms around her growing tight. "To see...how he leaves his companions always empty, their lives risked and for nothing, while it is so easy for me..." Lifting his head again, he pressed his mouth over Lucy's, lifting a hand to cradle the back of her head, holding her against the kiss, pressing his tongue against hers. 

As he pulled back, he took her hand, leading her towards their bedroom. 

"Master-" 

"Shh..." He said softly, pulling Lucy through the door, kicking it shut the moment Tish had exited. "It'll be fun," he said, "don't you see?" He motioned around to the room, walled with mirrors, and finally to the Doctor, propped in a corner. "And we'll have even more fun with him later."

"But-" 

"Don't argue," he said playfully, taking her hands and swinging her around towards the bed, pulling himself close, tipping his lips to hers so she could feel his words as he spoke, his eyes seeping into hers. "Just tell me what a marvelous lover I am..."

She swallowed thickly, her eyes moving to the Doctor, old and crumpled in a wheelchair in the corner and she felt mildly sick. But she didn't resist as the Master kissed her. She let herself fall into his kiss, her eyes shutting out the poor man locked in their room with them as the Master slid his fingers up her thigh, lifting her dress. 

"Such a shame," he murmured, pulling back slightly, brushing his nose to hers. "To have just gotten you into this gorgeous dress, and I'll so soon be removing you from it." He paused, thoughtful for a moment as Lucy undid the buttons of his shirt, loosened his tie. "Maybe it's not such a shame." 

Forcing a smile to her lips, she leaned forward, kissing his chest as she pulled his jacket and shirt off, letting them drop away. She could feel the rise and fall of breath under her lips, his warm skin, hear his soft moan as she slid her hands down to his pants...buckle - gone. Button, zipper, undone. 

"That's right, Lucy," he moaned softly, tipping his face towards the ceiling as she kissed her way down, her lips touching his belly button as she pulled his pants down around his ankles. Opening his eyes, he looked to the Doctor, giving him a smile as he held his hands out to the side. He moved his lips silently as Lucy removed his shoes, his socks, and at last those bothersome slacks: "See all that you are missing." 

The Doctor closed his eyes, turned his face away, but he couldn't shut his ears. He heard Lucy's dress sliding down, falling to the ground, heard her body hit the silk sheets, the Master joining her. 

"Watch, Doctor," the Master murmured softly, his eyes locked on Lucy's as he slid a hand up her side, his fingers lingering on the round of her breast before continuing to her slender, pale throat. "You wouldn't want anyone hurt now, would you?" 

Lucy felt her heart constricting as the Master smiled sweetly down at her, feeling his fingers on her throat. 

"Good boy," he murmured without looking up, bowing his head to kiss her lips, her chin, her neck as he slid his hands down, touching her breasts, soft nipples as he touched his tongue to her sternum, tracing a warm, moist line down to her belly button. 

The Doctor's stomach lurched as Lucy turned her eyes towards him, almost pleading. _She silently screamed Please - close your eyes, Doctor._

"Tell me," the Master murmured as he kissed and nibbled the soft, warm skin on her inner thigh, his eyes rolling up towards her. 

Biting her lip, Lucy closed her eyes, restraining a soft moan as heat coursed through her thighs. "You are," she moaned, "you are the best lover I've ever had...even if this is entirely fucked up." 

He laughed softly, dipping his head down. 

Lucy's back arched off the silk sheets, her lips parting wide in silent gasp. Her fingers found their way into her hair, tugging softly as the Master's flicking tongue sent waves through her. 

Head bowed, the Doctor tried to block out the hiss of Lucy's breath, the sound of the body writhing on the silken sheet, and, at last, the Master resurfacing, speaking softly: "Can you taste yourself?" 

He pressed his lips to hers, his hands sliding down to her hips and lifting them against his, pressing himself inside of her. Slower, kinder this time, Lucy still throbbed. Even when she was ill the Master seemed unable to keep away, and she was reminded of how badly she hurt as he pressed himself inside of her. Still, a gasp escaped her lips as he pulled her up, sitting back on his haunches, his hands traveling up, fingers spreading across her back as she rolled her hips against his. 

Opening his eyes, the Master looked into the mirror, giving himself a little wink over Lucy's rising and falling shoulder. His eyes ticked towards the Doctor. He wasn't watching. 

"Watch... _Doctor_..." He gasped, his fingers clawing into Lucy's soft skin as he thrust his hips up, closing his eyes and letting out a deep moan as the feel of her pressing down all around him. 

Shaking his heavy, tired head, the Doctor kept his eyes down, shut tightly. He wouldn't look, but then- 

_Crack!_

His eyes snapped up instinctively, seeing the Master's bared back to him, Lucy thrust back against the mirror over their bed, gasping, shocked, her hair falling around her face as she clawed at the fingers wrapped over her neck. 

Turning, the Master's eyes fell on the Doctor, a tiny smile on his lips. "I said watch." _I know you can't resist being a hero._

Swallowing thickly, the Doctor stared at the Master as he turned back to the Lucy, looking at her with a soft, pouting sorrow before releasing her, brushing her lips with his, lifting a hand to toss her hair back from her face as she coughed. His eyes ticked up momentarily to examine the crack in the glass from the impact of her skull, but he shrugged it off as he took her full thighs in his hands, pulling them up alongside his hips as he pushed himself back inside of her. 

For the next twenty minutes, Lucy held the back of her head, her eyes closed, small, involuntary gasps escaping her lips. The Doctor couldn't tell if they were gasps of pain or of pleasure.


	12. 11. Helter Skelter

The crack of the leather whip made Lucy flinch, even knowing that the Master was across the room with his new play thing.

"Come on," he murmured softly, giving her and Tish a pout as he moved forward, wrapping the braided leather whip around his knuckles. "It's not so hard, is it?" 

Lucy turned her eyes to Tish. The poor girl was shaking like made, her eyes quivering with tears as she bowed her head, her hair spilling around her face. 

"Aw...Lucy," the Master said in mock concern. "Comfort the poor girl." He slid the leather over his knuckles, pulling it loose before flicking the smooth floor with it's tasseled tip, turning and moving back towards the chair set against the mirrored wall across the room from the bed. 

Sitting himself down in the over stuffed chair, he lifted the whip, touching the tassel to his lips before taking the braid in his teeth, lowering his hands to unbutton and unzip his pants. 

He could see that Lucy, too, was shaking. Her back was marked with a long, pink line from a whip strike, only a few minutes earlier. He tilted his head to the side, letting his eyes rove over the women's sleek, naked bodies, and he grinned, resting his fingers lightly on himself as he lifted an eyebrow. "Well, Luce?" He muttered around the leather braid. "She's scared I'll whip her next. Comfort her." 

Lifting shaking hands, Lucy cupped Tish's face. Her cheeks were moist and hot with tears. "I-it's OK," Lucy quaked, lifting a hand to brush Tish's hair from her face. "He wont hurt you-" 

Tish's eyes slid up to Lucy's, her pupils looking like shimmering white diamonds, tears glinting in the light. Her lips were shaking, she wanted to speak, but -

"Lucy!" The Master barked, getting to his feet, the whip in his hand again. He swung it around, smiling as it cracked in the air. 

The snap of the whip made the women flinch, and Lucy reached out, closing her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Tish, pulling her body against hers. Tish let out a shrieking sob as Lucy stroked her hair, turning her eyes on the Master. 

He gave her a big, bright smile. 

Closing her eyes, Lucy turned her nose into Tish's hair, heaving a sigh before pulling back slightly, lowering her hands to take Tish's. Her fingers shook madly, wrapping inside of Lucy's. 

Leading her to the bed of silk, Lucy sat her gently down on the foot of the bed, bending over to kiss her lips. She felt like she might vomit as she heard her husband behind her, sitting back down in his chair with a soft chuckle. 

"It's OK," Lucy said softly as she pulled back, lifting a hand to push Tish's hair back again. "If we just do what he says, he won't hurt us." 

Tish nodded weakly, laying back on the silk as Lucy touched her shoulders. 

He liked the look of their bodies together: Lucy's pale, ivory skin and her blonde locks, Tish's dark skin and hair. Smiling, he touched himself, setting his fingers over himself and sliding his hand roughly up and down as he bit his lip, watching them through his lashes as Lucy cupped Tish's cheek, their mouths pressing together.   
"That's right, girls," he murmured softly, tipping his head to the side. "Lucy...kiss her like you mean it." 

Lucy could feel her brows drawing together in a pained frown as she pressed her mouth against Tish's forcing her tongue into the poor girl's mouth. Before he said anything, she knew what he wanted her to do: she lowered a hand, touching Tish's breast as the girl's fingers knotted in the silk sheets, her body lying stiff beneath Lucy's. 

"Good girls," the Master murmured, his hand moving quicker as Lucy lowered her hand to touch Tish's thigh, encouraging her to bend her knee up along her hip. "Good girls..." 

It was too much to resist. He was hard as rock, his erection in one hand and the soft leather whip in the other. Releasing himself, he stood, moving towards the bed, his bare feet padding against the tile floor. As he went he unbuttoned his shirt, let it f all aside. He abandoned his pants as well, crawling onto the bed beside the girls. 

Feeling his weight on the bed beside them, Lucy and Tish opened their eyes, their lips parting as they turned to look at him. 

Smiling, he lifted the handle of his whip towards Lucy, touching it to her lips. "My beautiful wife," he murmured, turning his eyes then to Tish as she looked up at him with her eyes, quivering pools of tears. "And my sweet chocolate girl." He lowered his lips to her kiss, caressing her skin with a kiss. "Oh, my," he murmured, lifting a hand to brush his knuckles along her cheek. "Your skin is soft as silk." 

She swallowed thickly, unsure of what to feel as he pressed the handle of his whip between her belly and Lucy's. 

"Come to me," he murmured, encircling her waist with his hand, pulling her towards him as he lay back on the bed, pulling her up so that she straddled his waist. He smiled up at her as he pressed inside of her, a soft groan escaping his lips at the feel of her. He held her hips with his whip-hand, lifting his free hand to Lucy, tangling his fingers in her hair, gently tugging her close to him. "Kiss me," he breathed as he pulled her close, closing his eyes. 

She could feel his breath, hot and sticky on her cheeks as she closed her eyes, bowing her lips to his. She had thought that now she would be safe from his bouts of insanity - violent, sexual or otherwise - but she had been wrong. He was slowly becoming more and more monstrous, and yet... 

He looked the same. His eyes were the same brown, his lashes still long and fluttering, his nose still softly sloping, his skin still soft. He still tasted the same: sweet and salty all at once, a swim in the ocean on a hot August dusk, glittering. 

*** 

The Master sat at the end of the bed, sliding the braided whip through his fingers as he stared at the door. He tapped his bare feet on the floor to the drums in his head, watching as though waiting. He seemed to expect someone to come bursting in at any moment, though he had expressly forbid anyone from entering, threatened them with death by Toclofane or strangulation with whip, whichever pleased him at the time. And though he seemed to be expecting someone, he didn't get up to get dressed. He continued to sit, waiting, perched naked on the end of the bed, Tish and Lucy shivering nervously under the silk behind him. 

Lucy had wrapped her arms around Tish, trying to comfort her, trying to comfort herself. It didn't help. 

They stared at his back, Muscle taut under his skin, rippling every time he flicked the whip back, to start stroking it once again from the base. Both were too scared to move, though both wanted to get up and get dressed, though both wanted to go shower, scrub their skin for hours until there was none left to scrub. 

"Lucy," he murmured softly, the words abrupt on his lips. "Get dressed." 

Unraveling herself from Tish, feeling the girl's fingers dig pleadingly into her skin, Lucy moved to get up. With a snarl she shook Tish off, rushing to the closet. She just wanted to be clothed, and now that she had permission to do so, she didn't care about Tish. 

"Put on your red dress," he said. "The one I got you - I so like how it looks on you," he murmured, his eyes ticking towards her, looking glazed and far-off. 

Nodding, she pulled out the dress and pulled it on. She found some underwear and pulled them on under the dress, feeling somewhat more secure with the fabric protecting her between her legs. 

"Can you go tell Tish's Mommy that I want some tea," he said. He turned to glance back at Tish, her fingers knotted over the silk and holding it over her breasts as though the sheet would repel him, and all other evils. He gave her a tiny smile before turning his eyes back to Lucy. "Green. Enough for yourself, as well." 

Giving another nod, Lucy slipped out of the room into the cool air outside, the feel of it against her skin reviving. 

Turning back to Tish, the Master set his whip aside, crawling towards her and flopping down beside her. He rolled onto his back, lifting an arm under his head as he gazed up at the ceiling. He'd hand a mirror fitted there the day before. He had been glad for it tonight. 

"How do you feel, Tish?" He asked softly, examining his features in the mirror. He looked tired. 

She didn't respond right away. She didn't know how she was supposed to respond. She felt ill - she felt wrong. But if she said that - surely he would hit her, wouldn't he? 

"Don't worry," he murmured after a while. "I wont be doing that again." He turned to look at her as she closed her eyes, seemingly afraid he might suck what was left of her through her irises. "You are beautiful, Tish, but...you just aren't as pleasing as Lucy." 

Gnawing her lips, she turned her face away. 

"You're safe from me," he said, propping himself up on one elbow, reaching out to take her chin gently in his hands, turning her face towards him. "Open those pretty eyes, Tish." 

Slowly, shaking, she obeyed.

Smiling, he nodded softly, releasing her chin to stroke her cheeks. "Go, now," he said. "Use my shower - it's better than the one and you and your parents use." He lifted a hand to motion to a door on the far side of the room, hidden amid the rest of the wall as it, too, was covered with a mirror. "Use all the hot water you want," he continued. "I have all the hot water in the world." He gave her another smile before rolling off the bed, lifting his hand towards her as though he were a gentleman, wanting to help the lady to her feet. 

Sitting slowly up, Tish held out her hand, allowing him to take it and pull her from the bed. 

"Let go of that silly thing," he said, pulling the sheet from her hands and letting it drop to the floor. "Come, now." He turned, guiding her to the door. He pulled it open and switched the light on inside the bathroom.   
It was big and the walls and sink and floor were marble. It looked Roman in design, save for the massive glass shower in the corner, built in the shape of a hexagon. The glass panes of each side were separated by marble pillars, swirling with golden sparkles. 

Moving towards the shower, sweeping her along, he pulled open the door and stepped aside so that she could step in. He motioned to each of the pillars, proud of his handy-work. "Each has three different jets," he said. "Knee, hip, and shoulder level. Then -" He motioned to the ceiling, which dipped over the shower, dotted with holes arranged in a series of circles, one inside the other. " - there is the main jet. You can control them with these." He reached to tap the silver knobs on one of the pillars. "You're a smart girl. You'll figure them out." Giving her another smile, he stepped back, closing the door. "Have fun!" He turned on his heel, heading out the door, giving her a little finger-wave over his shoulder. 

*** 

"Did you ever see my new toy?" The Master asked, sitting on the foot of the Doctor's bed, almost as big and silky as his own. "I call her Rose." He smiled, holding the whip out for the Doctor to see. It curled in his hands like a black snake, sleeping but ready to strike. 

Closing his weary eyes, the Doctor turned away. 

"What?" The Master asked, scooting closer to the Doctor on the bed . "Don't you like her?" He unraveled the whip, stretching it out to its full length, holding the handle in one hand, wrapping the end around his other fist. He smiled at the Doctor over the taut leather braid, absolutely beaming. "I like her." 

Still, the Doctor didn't reply. He didn't talk much anymore. The Master could remember a time when he couldn't get the Doctor to shut up, now it was like fighting a war just to get him to speak. 

Wrapping the whip around his hand, the Master leaned forward, examining the Doctor's old face. "I came to ask you something," he said. "I wanted to ask you how you would feel about joining Lucy and I in some games?" He could see the Doctor's muscle in his jaw tighten as the Master said the words, and he smiled. "When I make you all young and handsome again, it'll be fun!" He sat straight, lifting his hands to straighten his tie, working around the braided leather of the whip. 

No response, still. The Doctor remained sitting before him, still as a statue, eyes slammed shut. 

"Come now, Doctor!" The Master said, standing, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his laser screwdriver. "Don't be a spoil sport!"


	13. 12. Bedroom Dancing

The Master hopped up onto his bed, bouncing like a boy, holding his hands out to the side and laughing as he jumped, spinning, into the air.

The Doctor lay on the foot of the bed, exhausted from another de-aging process. He didn't even try to lift his head, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. He just lay there, bouncing slightly as the Master jumped, eyes closed, lips pursed.

"This is going to be such fun!" The Master said gleefully, springing off the bed to the floor. He ran towards the Doctor, kneeling at the foot of the bed to look him in the eye. "Doctor? Doctor - isn't this going to be fun?"

Opening his eyes, the Doctor could feel his jaw clenching, as much as he tried to remain calm.

"I told Lucy to go get herself pretty," he said with a smile, his eyes gleaming. "She is so pretty, Doctor - isn't she just?"

Closing his eyes, the Doctor forced the tensed muscles in his body to relax. "She is," he murmured after a moment, his voice grinding through his teeth.

Jumping to his feet, the Master spun around, snapping his fingers in the air as he spoke to the voice-activated sound system he'd had installed. "Album: Greatest Hits - Why Try Harder? Tack two!" He spun on his heel as the song wound up with a crackling piano and faded voices in the background. Turning back to the Doctor, he held an imaginary microphone to his mouth with one hand as he began to unbutton his shirt with the other.

_"We've come a long long way together,_  
Through the hard times and the good,  
I have to celebrate you baby,  
I have to praise you like I should..." 

He danced around the room, singing along to the Fatboy Slim song pumping through the air, his head hammering along to a beat that wasn't in the song. The Doctor watched him, terrified. He was absolutely fucking mad, and it almost seemed like he went crazier with each passing day.

_"I have to praise you..._  
I have to praise you  
I have to praise you like I should..." 

When Lucy came in, the Master was still dancing, looking like a boy in his room, dreaming of being a rock star. Despite what she knew was coming, despite her growing fear, she had to smile.

Then she saw the Doctor, his hands cuffed behind him, laying face-down on the foot of the bed.

Her smile faded as she moved into the room, closing the door behind her. She stood there, her eyes moving back to the Master as he danced, pursing her lips and waiting. It didn't hurt to wait...to put off the inevitable, to let him have this bit of fun, to let the Doctor rest. He so needed rest, she could see it on his worn face.

As the song wound down, the Master stopped his dancing, calling to the sound system to turn off. He turned, hands on his hips, his shirt hanging open, his hair a mess, and smiled at Lucy. "Luce!" He called, holding out his hands, breathing hard as he moved towards her. "You look so, so pretty...Darling-" He scooped her up in his arms, pressing his lips softly to hers, peppering her face with childish little kisses. "You - look - so - pretty!"

She laughed faintly, not sure what to make of his mood as he buried his face into her hair, hugging her tightly. It was a far cry from the version of him that had brought the poor, terrified Tish in that morning, that had whipped her...

Pulling back, the Master beamed at her as he lifted his hands, cupping her carefully-blushed cheeks and looking into her eyes, rimmed with a cautious, thin eye-liner, her lashes long and thick and dark as she batted them up at him, her lids shadowed softly, her lips glossy. "Wonderful," he murmured, smiling. "Just wonderful." He turned, swinging her around in front of him holding her out, boasting her. "Doesn't she look lovely?" The Master cooed as he urged her forward, his hands still set on her shoulders. "Tell her she looks lovely, Doctor. Ladies always like to hear when they're looking lovely."

Opening his eyes, laying his cheeks heavily against the silk sheet, the Doctor forced a bitter smile to his face as he looked up at Lucy, looking down at him, blank. "Wonderful," he bit out through his smile. "Lookin' great."

"See, Luce?" The Master said, pulling her back against hi, wrapping his arms around her and smiling. "No need to feel so tense!" Releasing her, he stepped back, shoving her forward.

Loosing her balance upon the abrupt shove, she toppled forward, falling against the bed before finally regaining her feet. Brush her hair from her eyes, she looked up at the Master as he fished something from his pocket and tossed it to her. Lifting her hands, she caught the silver glint, opening her fingers to see a key resting like ice in her palm.

"Go on and un-cuff him," he said with a smile, rubbing his hands together.

Looking down at the Doctor, Lucy felt a wave of nausea. Twice in one day. This was getting a little excessive.

Leaning down, she shakily put the key in and turned it, thinking that she would drop the key before she finished. Finally, though, the cuffs were off. She sat down as the Doctor sat up beside her, shaking off the hand cuffs.

He kept his eyes down as he rubbed his wrists. The Master had put the cuffs on too tight. There were bitten, red marks around his wrists.

"Lucy," the Master said, standing back, shifting from one foot to another. "Help the man with his clothes."

Swallowing thickly, she stood, stepping in front of the Doctor, lifting her hands to his tie. As she did, he turned his eyes up towards her. She met them for a moment, then, pursing her lips, turning her eyes away. She couldn't.

"And remember, Doc," the Master said, reaching into his pocket, touching the laser screwdriver there. "Any funny business...I'll make you hurt." He paused, shrugging a little. "Or her - which ever keeps you under control."

Closing her eyes, Lucy jerked the Doctor's tie free. How had she allowed herself to get dragged into the middle of this? However it had happened, it seemed like ages ago.

"Hurry up, Lucy," the Master said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "Usually I like drawing things out, but..." His voice trailed off as he wandered around to have a better view of Lucy's fingers working on the buttons of the Doctor's shirt, moving quickly at his prompting.

The Doctor rolled his eyes up to the Master. He looked more defeated than ever - old, and tired. The lines around his eyes were still so delicate and yet they made him look as though, if handled to roughly, he would shatter.

Reaching out, the Master touched the Doctor's cheek softly as Lucy removed his shirt, folding it tenderly and setting it aside.

"I don't know if you remember what sex actually feels like, Doctor," the Master said, turning away and walking to the wall, pacing up and down the panes of mirror. "But it's certainty not something to look so sad over."

Closing his eyes, the Doctor turned his face back towards Lucy as she kneeled before him, untying his shoes and pulling them gently away from his feet. Next, she rolled off his socks, setting them each atop the corresponding shoe. She didn't know how to do this...other than carefully.

By the time she had him standing, his pants removed and folded away, Lucy was filled with burning tears she could not shed. If she did...

He could see it in her - they could it in her. What the fuck are they?

It didn't matter how much the Master spoke of the Time Lords, of their home planet of Gallifrey - it simply did not matter. She couldn't seem to set it in her mind...he looked, felt human.

So did the Doctor.

But they could see the tears on her cheeks, though unshed, and she hid her face.

The Master was smiling. He was proud of his woman. The tears were boiling in her chest but she held them down, forcefully and wonderfully. "Take off your dress, Lucy," he said softly, still pacing along the mirrors, like a stir-crazy lion. "His hands are shaking too much to hold the silk."

Opening her eyes, still downcast, Lucy saw that the Doctor's hands were shaking. They shook violently as he flexed his fingers against and again, trying to flex the shaking away.

Sighing, Lucy closed her eyes, reaching behind her back to undo the clasp just below her shoulder blades. As it fell open, she shrugged the dress off and it fell to the ground. Eyes still closed, she looped her fingers into her underwear, pressing them down over her thighs. As they fell around her ankles, she lifted her eyes to the Doctor's.

He looked back at her, swallowing thickly, his jaw taut. He knew that she could see the muscle popping out against the bone. He just couldn't bring himself to relax his body. It seemed impossible to do so in light of what was happening.

"Go on, Luce," the Master whispered, moving forward slightly. "He's not going to make the first move. Touch him."

Closing her eyes, Lucy reached out, softly trailing her fingers down the Doctor's abdomen. She could feel his skin flinch under her touch as she moved her hands to his hips, gently pushing him back onto the bed. But he didn't try to fight. She didn't know if he had already broken, if he was just too tired to try, or if he really was concerned about the idea of her being whipped if he did so.

"Doctor," the Master said, moving towards the bed, motioning for him to roll over. "It's only proper that you be on top." He pulled his lips into a curious half-smile half-grimace as he began to pace beside the bed, looking like a director as he motioned to Lucy to lie on her back. "Unless...you want to be submissive to her?"

Both of their eyes ticked anxiously up towards him.

"I mean...she's certainly not used to being dominant, but I suppose..." He gave a little shrug before lifting his hands before his face, lacing his fingers at his mouth, his brow furrowing as Lucy lay her head back against her soft pillows, looking at the Doctor as he closed his eyes, pulling himself up on top of her.

"Of course there are different circumstances that would lead to you still being dominant if you do want to be on your back," the Master said abruptly, snapping his fingers as he pointed at the Doctor and Lucy. "Then again...in this situation, I think you'd be pretty much stuck with submissive if you did. In any case - I'd prefer you be on top."

Biting the inside of his cheeks, the Doctor wrapped his fingers into the lace sheets, squeezing. He could feel his fingernails biting through the fabric into his palm.

"Well?" The Master asked, skipping around the bed, sweeping up one of the sheets in his hands. "Would you feel more comfortable if you were covered?" He ran across the foot of the bed, holding the sheet out so that it billowed up like a burgundy banner, settling down over them, covering the Doctor from his waits to his feet. "Is that better?" The Master asked, skipping backwards towards the mirrored wall. "That must be better - go on then."

The Doctor looked up at the Master as he leaned back against the Mirror. It took all of his energy to not spit in the Master's face, to not wrest the laser screwdriver away from him and shove it down his throat.

Closing his eyes and turning his face back to Lucy, he took in a deep breath. "I can't," he breathed.

"You - what?" The Master crept forward, bowing his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the Doctor's shadowed face. "What do you mean?"

"I can't just..." Shaking his head, the Doctor opened his eyes for a moment to glance at Lucy as she lay stiffly beneath him, gearing all of her energy towards controlling her breathing.

"Well, what a shame," the Master murmured, sitting down on the bed and looking at Lucy. He seemed to study her for a moment, pensive. Then, with a grin, he turned his eyes back towards the Doctor. "Just close your eyes and imagine your precious Rose," he said, eyes glimmering as the Doctor looked up at him.

He could feel the depths of the darkness in his eyes as he looked at the Master, his body quivering in rage. But he bit his tongue, refused to speak. If he did...he could just imagine the Master pulling back his hand, smashing it across Lucy's face so hard that an imprint of his ring was left on her bleeding cheek.

"I mean..." The Master turned his smiling eyes back towards Lucy, reaching out to touch her silky skin with cool finger tips. "She is just so gorgeous, but...if you can only get hard for Rose-"

"Shut up," the Doctor growled through gritted teeth, slamming his eyes shut as he lifted a hand, pressing it over his eyes. "Just shut up."

"Oh," the Master laughed, rising to his feet. "Right - how could I forget? You can't allow yourself to think like that..." He kneeled on the bed behind the Doctor, leaning forward so that the buttons of his open shirt grazed the Doctor's shoulders. "No no no...If you did...well, it might be harder to refrain from touching..."

He was so close now that the Doctor could feel the heat of his skin on his back. He closed his eyes, pulling away until he was pressed against Lucy, but the Master didn't pull back. He moved his hand under the silk sheets, touching the Doctor's hip.

"It's time to touch, though, Doctor," the Master murmured, closing his eyes as he pressed his chest to the Doctor back, resting his lips against the Doctor's ear as he slid his hand under his smooth abdomen. "If you deny yourself for too long-"

The Doctor jerked away as the Master's fingers touched him. He felt his face control viciously as he rolled to the side, turning his tear-glazed eyes up towards the Master as he leaned back on his knees, laughing.

"Come on, Doctor," the Master said. "Stage fright? I'll close my eyes if you want." He lifted a hand over his eyes, parting his fingers to peek through at the Doctor. But as he lowered his hand, his smile had vanished. Lifting his hand, he turned his eyes on Lucy.

"No!" The Doctor shouted as Lucy flinched, her body turning in a fetal roll, in preparation for the strike that didn't come.

As the Doctor pulled himself protectively over Lucy, the Master laughed. "That's what I thought," he bit out, sliding back off the bed to continue his feral pacing. "Just do it, Doctor."

Opening his eyes, the Doctor turned them down to Lucy as she unraveled herself in his arms, her own eyes locked on the Master.

"Come on, Doctor!" The Master hissed. "Your body is young and strong and invigorated!" He punched the air on the last syllable, smiling as he trotted around the bed. "Just try." Leaning down, he rested his chin on the silk sheets, looking up at the Doctor even as he refused to take his eyes from Lucy. "For me?"

Swallowing thickly, Lucy lifted a hand, touching his face tentatively. Her terror was written on her f ace.

"It's OK," the Doctor murmured, bowing his head, pressing his lips to hers.

"Yes!" The Master hissed, standing, lifting his hands victoriously.

Lucy was still half-curled under the Doctor as he kissed her, his lips soft and smooth and moist on hers. Her breath was ragged through her nose, and she could feel that his was, as well, burning her cheeks as he shook, not wanting to pull back for fear that the Master wouldn't hesitate next time.

She could feel his body laid against hers. He was much thinner than the Master, and his skin seemed cooler, but somehow...it was more comforting. She could feel him against her thigh, still not hard, and she didn't know whether to be grateful or afraid. If he didn't penetrate her, how would the Master react? She was beginning to doubt that he would understand if the Doctor couldn't get hard on the spot, under constant threat and observation.

"Anything yet?" The Master asked, moving back towards the bed, rubbing his fingers together.

Finally, the Doctor pulled back, releasing her lips from his as he turned his face down, contorted as though in pain. "I...I just can't -"

"You already said that," the Master said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just...nothing?"

Slowly, hesitantly, the Doctor shook his head.

"How many years has it been since you last had sex?" The Master demanded. "A couple hundred years at least?"

The Doctor seemed to be back to not responding. He just lay where he was, against Lucy's warm, fragile-feeling body, head down, eyes closed.

"All that time and you can't get hard?"

Still, no response.

Pulling off his shirt, the Master shook his head, disappointed as he shed his pants and climbed into bed. He lifted a hand against the Doctor's chest, shoving him roughly aside.

As he fell back against the silk, staring up at the ceiling, the Doctor tried hard to control his breathing, his body as the Master pressed his lips to Lucy's. The Master had left his laser screwdriver in his pocket, discarded on the floor...Maybe-

The Master's hand fastened over the Doctor's throat, pulling him to within an inch of his lips. The Master's eyes raked over the Doctor's features as he smiled sweetly. "Don't go thinking such things," he hissed, pulling him back, releasing the Doctor's throat and wrapping his arm around his shoulders, holding him against his and Lucy's bodies. "Just...relax. This is how it's done..." He turned his eyes back to Lucy, bowing his lips once more to hers as he found the Doctor's hand, pressing his fingers over Lucy's breast.

***

Old, weak again, the Doctor was shoved into his room, wheels stuck so that he had to sit and face the wall all night. The Master hadn't been all that pleased that the Doctor hadn't participated in his game as much as he had hoped.

"Don't put him in his bed," the Master had snapped at Tish's mother as she rolled him away. "I'll come and check. If he's in bed..." He left the threat unfinished, but after what had happened to her daughter that morning, he didn't need to finish it.

Now, locked in his cold, dark room, the Doctor just sat, waited. His wrists had been chained again, so he couldn't get up and move from his wheelchair.

The room seemed too small.

It felt about ready to feast upon him.

A shaft of light fell across his skin. He winced at the sudden shiver of yellow light, turning his eyes away. It vanished again, just a moment later, but when he turned and opened his eyes, he saw he wasn't alone.

Lucy Saxon stood, back pressed against the wall, dressed in a white bathrobe, staring at him.

Swallowing thickly, the Doctor looked away. He felt ill to look at her.

"Doctor," she whispered softly, moving towards him, holding her hands out as she came to her knees beside his wheelchair. "Doctor...I am so sorry, Doctor."

He just shook his head softly, still turned away.

Biting her lips, Lucy lowered her eyes, grabbing at the stops on the wheels. She fumbled with them until she could turn the chair away from the wall, so that she was kneeled at his feet.

Looking up at him with tear-flushed eyes, she lifted her hands to take his. "When you kissed me," she murmured, "you didn't leave bruises."

Opening his eyes, he looked down at her, frowning softly.

"He usually leave bruises," she said softly, a tear tracing a shimmering line down her cheek. "It made me feel good."

Still he did not respond as she closed her eyes and lay her head in his lap, her shoulders shaking softly as her tears soaked through his pants.


	14. 13. Cruel Man

The Master lay on his back in his Paradox Machine, smiling softly up at what was once the control column. It glowed brittle red, softly throbbing, lighting his features as he lay there with his hands folded behind his head as he just...appreciated it.

He could hear the humming of the machine, the protest of it's weary gears deep inside of it. But it kept working, kept cranking, easing itself along, pressing forward with the eager determination of any good TARDIS - corrupted or not.

It was a good sound to hear. Now that the sound had returned to him, he couldn't imagine having lived so long without it.

Closing his eyes, he let his lips part in a soft smile as he listened to the workings of the Paradox Machine. He could feel the heat of it pressing down on his skin, making his sweat, making his shirt stick to his skin. It was like the caress of a lover's tongue, sliding along his body as he tipped his head back, feeling the presence around him.

He had kicked his shoes off before coming in, removing his sock to walk barefoot over the grate floor of the Paradox Machine, as though entering into a Buddhist temple.

Buddhist temples were being burned below the Valiant at this moment in time. The building cuts into the side of iced mountain were crushed. Anything that would not burn was gathered to rebuild. In the place a Buddha would stand a statue of the Master, gazing majestically over the landscape.

_am their lord and Master, now._

The heat ticked his toes as it hissed from a vent under the grate. It felt like fingers touching the arch of his foot - so much so that he opened his eyes and sat up. He leaned back on his hands, feeling the grate indenting his palm as he looked down at his feet, wiggling his toes. It had been an unearthly feeling.

_You make me burn._

Lifting his eyes, he turned them around, hearing the gears and pumps below thrum along like the drums breathing in his skull. He was inside the Paradox Machine.

_Thrum thrum thrum THRUM._

The pulse seemed to be pressing in on him as the heat, trying to slide his sweat back into his pores. It made his skin crawl pleasantly as he turned his eyes back towards the column.

The TARDIS's heart was grinding around irregularly below him. The TARDIS's heart could feel the drums just as he could, just as he heard them, consistently hammering inside of his skull. But here...hearing the heart of TARDIS whir it out, like an organic, beating heart made it so... _beautiful._

_Ssss ssss ssss SSSS..._

The Paradox Machine sighed. Tired.

Getting to his feet, the Master moved towards the glowing column, protected by a ring of iron mesh. He ran around it, the grate biting at his feet as he did so. It all burned, but nicely.

Finding the opening in the grate, he climbed up on the control board, lifting his arms to wrap them around the glowing column as his feet slipped over the controls. Closing his eyes, he held the column, pressing his cheek against it's biting burn, softly murmuring: "Shh...shh...shh..." Pulling back slightly, he lifted a hand, touching it's smooth side, feeling his palm sizzling. " _Shh_..."

All of his tools were still on board. The Paradox Machine was wheezing and cursing. Something was aching, a muscle strained.

Climbing down from the controls, the Master slipped out of the grate, moving to find his tools. He gathered up his equipment, pulling on his protective gear and pushing a shield onto his head, tipping the mask back as he grabbed up a welding tool. He had to soothe the pain in the Paradox Machine. He didn't want it to hurt so.

Pulling up part of the grate near the controls, the Master slid down inside of the Paradox Machine, the welding tools under his arm. He set the tools aside as he kneeled amid the re-worked wires and the pipes, looking for the problem.

There it was, flickering near the base of the controls, near the heart. He could hear it's pulsing so clearly now, as though through a stethoscope. He smiled faintly as he tipped the mask down over his face, taking up his tools and lighting the welder.

He would have to particularly careful. This was heart surgery.

Pulling himself close, his lifted his gloved hands, touching the frame around the hissing and sparkling piping. Pure energy ran through it into the heart, keeping it beating backwards to rewire the fabric of time, to allow for his children to exist.

Sharpening the flame of the welder, he leaned close, pressing it against the steel beside the crack that was causing the problem. Under the heat pressure throbbing from all sides, it had began to crack. He could melt it just enough to keep the energy safely sealed inside while he looked for a piece of metal to weld over it, but the bandage wouldn't last longer than a couple of a minutes. It was a piece of gauze and tape over a burst artery.

_I am burned..._

"I know, baby," he murmured softly behind the mask as he angled the blue flame to melt just enough of the metal over the crack to hold it sealed for a minute or two. "It's OK, baby...it's going to be OK."

He could feel the energy of time and space flowing beneath his gloved hands as he steadied himself on the pipe. It sent ripples through him as the drumming pounded louder than ever on the wrong side of his ear drums, dancing against his skull, winding like snakes around the lobes of his brain and seeping deep into the fabric of his very existence.

Licking his dried lips, he shook his head slightly as he pulled back. He was panting now, salivating and sweating profusely. His shirt was soaked through, his pants sticky and damp as he headed back up to find some scrap metal. There was bound to be some tossed aside from his previous reconstruction. It didn't take long to find some.

He welded the scrap over the glossy crack in the pipe carefully. He cut the scrap into pieces to weld them all the way around the pipe and a foot on either side of the initial crack. He had repaired the artery with a careful stitching...thorough and heavy, the sutures pulling the skin over itself to hold in the blood.

At last, it was done.

Pulling off the shield, the Master leaned forward, closing his eyes as he leaned against the pipe pumping energy through the heart and out into the rest of the machine. He imagined that it had taken on a red tint, red like blood, red like the column above.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the pipe, brushing his hands over it's old, rough surface, imagining a girl who could absorb that energy into her body and still hold together her mind, body, and soul.

"See, baby?" He murmured softly, his lips blistering against the pipe. "I told you...it's all good, now. Everything is fine..."

***

Lucy pressed her lower lip into her mouth with her long fingernails, painted red at the Master's request.

"To match your dress," he had said, with a glimmer in his eye.

She knew his true intent was to make her nails look like the blood-stained claws of a predator.

_Where is he?_

She could feel the eyes of Francine Jones burning into her back. Of course - it only made sense...She, too, was blamed for the rape of her daughter Tish. She had, of course, been involved...How was Francine to know or accept that she was just about as willing as Tish had been?

Closing her eyes, shaking her head, she turned away from the smoking, ice-glazed mountains below, turning herself towards the room at hand. She could still feel Francine, sizing her up. She might be able to hurt Lucy if she wanted to - no, that was a definite. The bruises on her wrists hurt, it was obvious. She moved her hands tenderly, trying to not aggravate the sore nerves there. If Francine came at her with the knife on the tray she carried...

_I wouldn't fight back much._

Her eyes snapped open as she heard the hiss of an air-locked door opening. The Master kept that ridiculous fucking box locked behind the door, air-sealed to make it all the harder for people to open when they didn't have the code to release the pressure.

He walked through the door, soot on his face, blisters on his lips and a burn on his cheek. But he smiled as he walked towards Lucy, his shirt soaked with sweat and blackened in spots, his feet bare, his shoes in one hand and stuffed with his sock his jacket over his shoulder.

"Luce," he murmured as he scaled the stairs towards the window by which she stood. "Luce..."

She watched, unmoving as he threw his shoes and jacket at Tish.

He lifted a hot, slick hand, wrapping it around her to spread his fingers across her bare back. Her skin felt icy under his fingers as he moved to pull her forward. At the last moment he jumped back, releasing her. "I almost ruined your dress!" He said, looking her up and down as he held his hands in the air. "Oh, my!"

Swallowing thickly, she lifted a hand to gingerly touch his burnt cheek. "What happened?"

Giving a shrug, he looked at her with widely dilated eyes, smiling broadly. "Nothing...nothing. Take off your dress."

A frown creased her brow as she looked up at him. "What?"

"Take off your dress."

Her eyes flickered around the room, to the guards at the doors, the maid team made up of the Jones family, the Doctor in his wheelchair in the corner. Her eyes lingered on the poor, old Doctor for a moment before turning back to the Master. She could see behind the glazed, stoned-appearance in his eyes that if she didn't remove her dress right then and there, he would strike her.

Lifting her hands behind her, she undid the clasp of her dress and pulled down the sleeves, letting it slip down around her ankles. Biting her lip, she stood before him, and the rest of the crew in the room, wearing only her stilettos and underwear.

"Much better," he murmured, reaching forward with his dirty, sweaty hands, pulling her forward against his sticky body. He pressed his mouth over hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth as he lifted a hand, fondling her breasts with soot-covered, sweat-slicked fingers.


	15. 14. You're a Star

Cupping the round of her breast, the Master pressed his mouth over Lucy's, using his other hand to force her body down against the bed. She groaned in slight protest as he forced his tongue into her mouth, but she didn't lift her hands to fight him. Instead, she lifted her arms around him, burying the fingers of one hand into his hair.

As always, she was sore. She was wondering how the other women that had been brought aboard were feeling.

That morning they had burned Japan. He had pressed Tish closer and closer to the edge of the Valiant's deck, smiling broadly as she choked on the smoke billowing from the cities below. Lucy had turned her eyes into the black smoke as he had slid his hand up the back of Tish's skirt.

Tish's mother had been locked up later that day when the Master had turned to catch her hand in the air, her fingers wrapped around a knife stolen from the kitchen. He'd only laughed.

From the ruined cities below, two young girls had been brought up. One was barely eighteen, her hair cut as a school girl's. The other was perhaps twenty. Lucy had seen him smile as he stretched his hands out to them. He murmured something softly to them as he took their frail hands, leading them away. Lucy hadn't understood what he had said - he'd spoken Japanese.

Those girls were among the few lucky who had been spared. They were, on the other hand, unlucky enough to be brought to the Master. They were pretty, their bodies curvy, their skin soft. He had been collecting them from around the world. Lucy wasn't sure what happened to them. She hadn't seen any of the girl's collected from Africa in over a week, and all the girls from European countries had vanished at least a month ago. She had her suspicions that when he'd had his fill, he'd simply dumped them over the edge he'd threatened to push Tish over earlier.

But before he killed them, how did make them feel?

Biting her lip, Lucy tried not to cry out in pain as the Master thrust himself roughly inside of her. The only thing she still enjoyed that he did was press his lips to her ear, murmuring softly to her. He didn't even do that often anymore. During sex it was mostly the continuous throb of him inside of her, his hands bending her to his every whim. Sometimes it was pleasant despite her soreness, sometimes it wasn't.

He still murmured into her ear as she fell off to sleep, though. His breath warmed her skin as he wrapped her in a cocoon of silk sheets, wrapping himself around her and nuzzling against her soft neck. Most of the time she couldn't quite make out his words as he spoke to her, but that had become less important than the fact that his voice was tender and warm and his lips were soft and brushing against her skin.

When he was done, he turned her on her side, pulling those silk sheets securely around them as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. He laced his fingers around hers as he rested his chin against the crook of her neck, touching his lips to her ear, whispering soft lullabies to her...

_"Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top...When the wind blows, the cradle will rock...When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall...And down will come baby, cradle and all..."_

***

Lucy hadn't fallen asleep tonight. She'd silently fought the soothing lilt of the Master's voice and crept silently from the room after he'd sang himself to sleep.

He didn't sleep much. When he did sleep, he didn't sleep hard for long - an hour, maybe. She just wanted an hour.

Wrapped in her sheet, Lucy crept down the hall of the Valiant. She paused to peer out the window into the burning world below. She wondered...The infamous Martha Jones had been missing every since the Master had successfully taken the world. He'd been tracking her, hunting her like a hound hunts a fox. All efforts so far had been unsuccessful. She couldn't help but wonder if, when he caught Martha Jones, his temper wouldn't be so easily pressed. But then she wondered what he would do to Martha. Didn't like to think him capable of the suggestions that ran around her mind, but Martha was a pretty girl.

Closing her eyes and shaking the thought off, she turned to head back towards the bedrooms. She slipped past the guards, holding her sheet tight over her breasts as she slunk along. She could feel one of the men's eyes on her, and gave a taut smile to herself as she closed her eyes and wandered along the hall. _If I tell the Master about that in the morning...He'll hang you from the_ Valiant's _underside by your feet._

The person she had become was a far cry from the person she had been, if she took pleasure in that thought.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at the door to her room. She swallowed thickly as she looked from the door to the next: the door that hid away the Doctor at night.

Chewing her lower lip, Lucy gave the door to her room one last glance before moving towards the Doctor's room. She gently pushed the door open and peered in. The Doctor's frail form was hidden away in his bed, the one that matched the bed she shared with the Master.

He moved slightly under the sheets. It took much effort to sit up and look at her as she moved in, closing the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" The Doctor asked, his voice wavering and cracking.

She couldn't tell if he was angry or worried. Either way, she didn't care much. She had watched the Master tip the poor old man out of his wheelchair earlier today, laughing. She's gnawed her fingertips to keep her sobs under control. No tears, she reminded herself constantly. No tears, Luce. Strong women don't cry.

"I wanted to see that you are OK," she whispered softly, moving towards his bed, sitting down on the edge.

He peered at her through the dark, pursing his chapped lips as he pulled back slightly. "Go back to your room."

"But, Doctor -"

"Just go back to your room," he bit out, voice as weak as his body appeared. "No more of this. Both of us will be hurt, and you know it."

Her heart stung. Looking down, she squeezed her fingers around a handful of cotton sheets, biting her lower lips. "I just wanted to see that you were OK."

"I'm fine," he said, voice softening as he leaned back.

Nodding, Lucy moved slowly to her feet. Before turning back to the door, she moved forward again, leaning down and pressing her lips softly against the Doctor's bald head. As he withdrew, so did she, and she made her way back out of the room.

***

Lucy hadn't been able to sleep. She rose not long after returning to her room and went into the bathroom to take a shower. She'd stayed under the steaming jets for an hour. She could hear the Master start to move around out side of the door not too long after she'd gotten into the shower, and she prayed that he wouldn't follow her into the shower.

Luckily, he hadn't.

Once out of the shower, she had sat down before her mirror and painstakingly applied her makeup to cover up the shadows of exhaustion under her eyes and the fading bruises on her neck. She carefully spread her lipstick over her lips and teased her hair into soft hair that wavered down around her thin shoulders. She pulled on a black dress that the Master had had brought up from Russia. It was low cut and long, and the strap-sleeves were thick to cover her pale shoulders. The material was thick and cozy. It made her feel mildly more human.

Stepping back, she examined herself in the mirror. Against the black of the dress, it suddenly became apparent to her that she had lost more and more color over the passing months.

Sighing, she closed her big eyes and shook her head. When she opened them again to look at herself in the mirror, she saw that her carefully applied mascara had already started to flake.

"Goddamn it!" She snarled, taking the bottle and flinging it across the room. Lifting her hands, she turned back to the mirror, brushing away the flakes that had stuck to her cheek.

Turning on her heel she marched out of the bathroom, through her bedroom and into the main room of the Valiant.

The sun had risen by this time, and the Master was lounging at the head of the table, appreciating Tish's ass while she waited on him. Lucy could practically read the flitting thoughts of hatred on Tish's face. She wasn't sure what the Master had said to Tish while she wasn't in the room, but she could tell that a feeling of betrayal had joined Tish's feelings of hate and fear in the past few days.

Shaking it off, Lucy approached her husband. He lifted his eyes to her, giving her a bright smile. "Luce!" He said, pulling his feet from the table and standing, taking her hand in his. "You're up early," he said as he pressed his lips to her knuckles.

"I couldn't sleep well," she said. She turned and motioned to the guard who had watched her the night before. "I took a stroll and that man there wasn't looking on me kindly."

The Master's eyes flashed on the guard. Lucy smiled softly to herself as the Master stalked past her towards the guard. He may have enjoyed all the women he liked, but if anyone dared look at Lucy without his permission...It just wasn't a good idea.

As the Master took the guard aside to "have words" with him, Lucy turned towards Tish. "Do you have any good mascara?"

Tish lifted blood-shot eyes towards Lucy. She bit her lower lip, biting back the curses she wanted to fling at Lucy for leaving her alone with the Master that day. At last, she stood straight, smoothing down her skirt. "I have a small bit," she said, her voice all calmness and obedience. "Would you like me to fetch it for you?"

"Yes, thank you Tish," Lucy said, turning back to look at the Master as he motioned a couple of other guards to take the one who had looked at her away. She smiled to herself as he turned back to her, approaching with a new bounce in his step.

As the Master approached, his held out his hands to her, beckoning her to meet him halfway. She obliged, and as he wrapped his arms around her she was suddenly struck by something.

_What if he knows I visited the Doctor last night?_

Closing her eyes as she rested her cheek against his chest, she sighed, giving herself a mental shake.

_How would he know?_

 

"Why, Luce," the Master said warmly, pulling back from her, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair back from her eyes. "Your heart rate just jumped a bit, if I'm not mistaken." His smile faltered. His fingers tightened on her arms as he jerked her back towards him. Closing his eyes, he pulled her close to him, lowering his nose towards her lips.

She was shaking. _He'll know._

There was nothing on her lips that smelled any different - but she had showered. She had been in the shower a while - he had heard her, seen the steam billow out of the bathroom.

Her pulse was rising again. Now she was sweating, and there was the smell of fear in her sweat.

"What have you done, Luce?" The Master asked, pulling back, opening his eyes and holding her at arm's length.

"N-nothing," she stammered. _C'mon, Lucy, she hissed at herself. Just tell him like it's no big deal._ "I visited the Doctor last night-"

An explosion of tiny color bursts erupted behind her eyelids before she knew precisely what was happening.

"You what?" He snarled, shaking her, his fingers digging into her skin.

The strike was startling. He rarely hit her in front of people, especially staff. Mostly, when he hit her in front of others, it was in the bedroom.

Blinking away the sparks in her vision, Lucy looked up at him. It didn't take much to hold back the tears now. Her voice didn't even quiver this time. "It was nothing, my Master...I just felt bad for the old man-"

He shoved her away from him, turning quickly on his heels and storming towards the bedrooms.

She stood, startled for a moment, staring after him. The moment passed and she realized that everyone was staring at her.

A few of the guards standing in the hall stood back, pressed against the walls as the Master stormed through, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed. He approached the door of the Doctor's room and didn't bother with the door handle. He kicked it open, stepping through with a sweeping motion.

By the time Lucy had moved to follow him, he'd closed the door behind him, locking it using his laser screwdriver.

The Master aimed the screwdriver at the Doctor as the old man sat up in bed, startled. "What did you do?" He spat viciously, stepping forward.

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about," the Doctor said slowly.

"Lucy!" The Master roared. "LUCY!"

"Lucy?" The Doctor shook his head. "She came to talk to me, that's all."

Giving a disbelieving snort, the Master lowered his finger against a familiar button on the laser screwdriver. "Old friend," he snarled as the Doctor went into convulsions under the beam of the screwdriver. "I wonder how many times I can do this before your body is too weak to take anymore?"

Outside the door, Lucy listened, her big eyes wider than ever as she pressed her ear to the door.

The Doctor ceased his convulsions as the Master switched off the screwdriver, stepping towards the once again young man. "Sorry to have to hurt you like that," he spat through gritted teeth. "I simply don't want to mess with a person whose skin is flaking and blotched with liver spots."

Turning onto his back, the Doctor lifted his eyes, bleary for a moment, towards the Master. "What-"

Jumping forward, the Master grabbed the Doctor by the collar of his shirt, jerking him back before turning him over, shoving his roughly into the soft mattress. "OLD FRIEND!" He shouted, his fingers digging into the Doctor's thick hair and shoving his face into the pillows. As the Doctor began to fight back, trying to pull away, to breathe again, the Master laughed, using his free hand to pull his belt free. "Think of Rose, Doctor. Think of your dearly beloved!"

The Doctor's body went rigid with the pain of the belt carving a red mark across his back. He cried into the mattress, and as the master jerked his head back, making his scalp tingle, the Doctor began to hope that a good whipping was all the Master had in mind for him.

***

The guards had wrestled Lucy away from the door as she began to beat on it with her open palms, screaming. Now she cried out as she fought against the thick, armored arms of the guards pulling her towards her room.

They tossed her through the door and pulled it closed, standing outside to make sure that she didn't get out.

A few more minutes passed and the Master came out of the Doctor's room, shoving his screwdriver into his pocket. His shirt was hanging loose from his pants and was unbuttoned. His hand was wrapped in his belt as he stormed towards the door hid room.

"Stand aside!" He bellowed as he pushed open the door, slamming it behind him.

Lucy jumped back as he came in, her shout ceasing as she stumbled back slightly in her heels.

Turning his eyes on her, the Master unraveled his belt, moving towards her. "There was never any need for you to visit the Doctor," he hissed as he backed her into a mirrored corner. "Never any need at all."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, her tongue tangling around the words as she forced them past her lips. "I didn't know it would upset you so much-"

He lifted his hand, bringing it swinging down. His belt lashed across her shoulder.

She cried out, falling to her knees under the sting.

Moving forward, the Master lifted a fist, throwing it down into Lucy's face once, twice, three then four times, alongside the beat at his temple. "You cunt," he bit out, taking hold of the fabric of her dress, ripping it away from her back as she wrapped her fingers over her swelling, bleeding face, trying to keep the tears at bay. He lifted the belt again, bringing it down in a swift lash across her back.

He was too angry to seek out his whip.

His belt would do.

***

The guards entered the Doctor's room tentatively. They looked down on the man in his bed, old and frail again, laying under the blankets, almost looking as though he were asleep. Almost looking as though the Master had simply tucked him back into bed.

Only a faint trace of wetness on his cheeks said anything different.


	16. 15. No Songs

There were changes being made throughout the Valiant. 

The Doctor had been removed from his room and placed in a small, hut-like shelter in the main room. His little den in the corner was made complete by a straw floor and a bowl labeled “Dog.” The Master took to kicking the old man in the ribs whenever he got the chance and feeding him only scraps. His physical abuse of the Doctor had escalated, but he no longer used his laser screwdriver to threaten the Doctor with a younger body.   
In other words, he no longer tortured him with threats involving any assortment of sexual threats. 

Somehow, this made the Doctor feel as though he’d won one minor battle, and even though he now looked forward to waking up with a terribly cramped neck and swollen joints every morning, it was comforting. 

Lucy watched the Doctor’s body deteriorate under the pressures of such a poor diet and the physical abuses his old body was undergoing. She was expected the follow the Master, the way a loyal dog stays on your heels, a shadow. 

They were both his dogs now. 

She oversaw the redecoration of the room that had once been the Doctor’s and was now to be her new, secondary dressing room. It was complete with a claw-foot tub, an elaborately carved armoire with ivory inlays in the shape of ivory and roses, and a floor made of the fine, polished marble that had made up ancient pieces of art work such as Michelangelo’s _David._

She couldn’t help but notice as she gnawed on her carefully painted nails that her room also held a spare bed. 

The Master was snapping his fingers in the air - snap snap snap SNAP - as he took Lucy’s hand and spun her down the hall, swaying his hips slightly as he watched his feet dancing expertly across the floor. He pinched her fingernails between his fingertips. He could feel the expertly applied layers of polish fraying and peeling. 

He wasn’t so pleased with her deteriorating appearance. 

It had started the night he had beat her with his belt after having appropriately punishing the Doctor. She’d remained confined to her room until the most obvious of the welts and bruises had faded. He couldn’t blame her for that, but afterwards she had started slacking on her makeup and hair. Now she was chewing her fingernails and chipping the red polish. She didn’t seem to be bothering to have Tish or Francine clean and iron her clothes anymore, and she had stopped bathing regularly. Her hair was hanging limp and slightly greasy around her pallid face as he tried to dance her down the hall. She simply wasn’t responding. She’d never shut down so much after a good, healthy beating. He couldn’t understand why she had faded so after this last one. 

“Come now, darling,” he whispered softly as he swept her small, thin body against his. He could feel her hip bones, defined in her lack of enthusiasm for meals, as he pulled her close. “Why won’t you dance with me, my love?” Listing a hand, he pressed her thin-looking hair back from her face, tangling his fingers in the locks as he pressed his lips to hers. 

She moaned softly, but not in pleasure. He felt the grimace under his mouth as she flinched. A burst of anger rushed through the core of his chest as an almost imperceptible flinch wavered through her body, and he tightened his fingers in her hair, holding her firmly, yet unnecessarily, in place. He knew that she would not pull back - she was too intelligent for that. She had learned long ago that to pull away from him would draw forth a bruised neck, bruised breasts and thighs. 

Loosening his fingers in her hair, he pulled back slightly, brushing his lips tendering against the tip of her nose as she closed her eyes, pressing her un-painted lips together shamefully. 

“You baffle me, my Luce,” he whispered, pressing his lips softly to her ear. “My accompagnatore fedele.”   
Opening her eyes, she stared into the abyss hanging over his shoulder: the window shimmering in a smoke-streaked sun, looking out over the slowly moving destruction of the world. 

Italy had fallen. As she stood there in his arms, the art museums were being looted for her, all of the finest clothes being packed away to be brought to her. _Oh, Italy,_ she thought as she closed her eyes, lowering her head to rest her cheek on the Master’s shoulder. _I saw so little of you. Your statues raped and your paintings pillaged._

As he pressed his lips against her neck, she could feel him smile, and he only smiled more at the feel of a shudder running through her body. “Your statues raped and your paintings pillaged,” he murmured. “Your art molested and your poetry slaughtered as lambs on the alter of your Lord and Master…yours truly.” He laughed softly, pulling back, slipping gentle fingers under his chin to tip her face back, to make her look up into his eyes. “Darling?” 

“My Lord and Master,” she murmured, listless as she lifted a hand, touching his cheek. His skin was so hot but there was no blush in his soft cheeks. 

“Don’t you love me, Lucy, sweetie?” He asked softly, tipping his lips so close that they brushed against hers as he spoke. “You…you!” 

She closed her eyes, nodding slightly as he cupped her chill cheeks in his hot hands. 

“The angel average gods fear,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead, her eyelids. “Oh, you have become such a strong one, you, my Lucy…Dear, sweet, beautiful Lucy. I have made you so strong and you have made me feel so good.”

As he pressed his lips against her neck, she could feel him smile, and he only smiled more at the feel of a shudder running through her body. “Your statues raped and your paintings pillaged,” he murmured. “Your art molested and your poetry slaughtered as lambs on the alter of your Lord and Master…yours truly.” He laughed softly, pulling back, slipping gentle fingers under his chin to tip her face back, to make her look up into his eyes. “Darling?” 

“My Lord and Master,” she murmured, listless as she lifted a hand, touching his cheek. His skin was so hot but there was no blush in his soft cheeks. 

“Don’t you love me, Lucy, sweetie?” He asked softly, tipping his lips so close that they brushed against hers as he spoke. “You…you!” 

She closed her eyes, nodding slightly as he cupped her chill cheeks in his hot hands. 

“The angel average gods fear,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead, her eyelids. “Oh, you have become such a strong one, you, my Lucy…Dear, sweet, beautiful Lucy. I have made you so strong and you have made me feel so good.” 

She hissed slightly as he lowered a hand between her thighs, pressing his fingers between her legs through the silky fabric of her dress. 

“Why are you letting yourself slip, Lucy?” He asked, pressing his lips to her cheek, touching her skin with his tongue. “You are as beautiful as a Gallifrean sunset but…you let your adornments, the clouds in the sky, grow worn and old. Look at these lips,” he murmured, pulling back, lifting his hand to touch his fingertips to her lips. “You let them go to waste. Unpainted they fade, and such a shame. You have such fine lips. And this hair…” He tangled his fingers into her unkempt locks, tugging gently to force her head back, exposing a sleek, ivory throat any vampire would love to lap a meal from. “This hair is like the strange sun of this planet, rippling down over frozen streams in the winter - when you bathe properly.” He jerked her head upright, smiling into her eyes as he lifted his eyebrows. “But your eyes are the best. Pieces of the earth sky clipped down and sewn into these finely carved sockets.” He trailed a finger along the ridge of her eye socket, down over her cheekbone. “But…what - what is this? The way they pale, ignored, undecorated? They are lost, Lucy. Why did you lose your eyes?” 

Swallowing thickly, she tried not to think about the warmth of the fingers touching her throat, wrapping softly over her neck and pulling her close. 

“Would you like that pretty girl, Tish, to keep an eye on you? To make sure that you’re as beautiful as you can be?” He lifted his hand, brushing the back of his knuckles against her cheek. “Or…are you strong enough to paint your own lips?” 

Visions of red and white sparks danced before her eyes. She could see in her mind’s eye the Master’s hand raise and crash down against her jaw, she could almost hear his voice asking her in a voice filled with accusation: “Why aren’t you strong, Lucy? I had so much hope that you had become the icy angel I intended you to be!” 

But he didn’t. Those sparks she imagined never came. He knotted his fingers into her hair, pulling her close, pressing soft lips over hers. His fingers lingered, curled against her scalp, half-threat, half-comfort, as he pulled back and smiled at her. 

As he released her, he took his hands back in his, flashing her a smile before pulling her into a swinging circle, letting out a burst of laughter. 

She forced her feet to glide along the ground in sync with the Master’s, easing a smile onto her lips as she was danced to the bedroom she shared with him.


	17. 15. Weapon

15\. Weapon 

There was something not right. Lucy could feel it on the air, the way the air had grown tense. It reminded her of ice as she walked down the halls, picking out an aimless path as her eyes gazed, listless, around her surroundings. 

Everything had somehow managed to remain so neat and crisp. 

The Master had done a good job at that. 

He had taken her on another trip. Apparently, what he had shown her had been fun and all, but there was something even better she needed to see. 

“The world where the Toclofane come from,” he had said gleefully as he had pulled her into the Paradox Machine. 

It had not worked as it had before. The machine groaned and protested, shuddering violently before it came to a halt and the Master had thrown the doors open, letting the smell of burning rubber, plastic, and alien oils billows inside in tar-thick black smoke. The hot smell of melting metals sifted in with the smoke, and sounds of crying: children, women, men, the elderly. Moans and groans of pain, shots of panic as people tried to keep each other alive. 

The smell of burning flesh was the smell that had imprinted itself on her mind. It didn’t seem to want to leave her alone…that smell. It lingered in her nostrils as an ever present reminder than it really didn’t matter what the Master did…the end of humanity loomed, vicious and cruel…painful and clouded by the smoke of fires kept burning with anything available, from fossil fuels to human corpses. 

There was no light but the light of the flames in Utopia. 

“Shhh…” Lucy hushed herself softly, lowering her head, closing her eyes as she stretched her hands out to drag her fingertips along the smooth, pale gray walls. “Shh-shh-shh…” 

At the end of the hall the Master rounded the corner, pausing curiously before smiling at his wife as she wandered towards him, arms outstretched, head hanging, looking for all the world as though she were hanging on an invisible cross. 

“Luce,” he said softly, holding his hands out to her as she lifted her eyes, wide and pale and blue. He smiled at her, enjoying the way her red dress hung on her ever-thinning frame, the way her golden locks curled down around her narrow shoulders. “What are you doing, love?” 

“Thinking,” she murmured softly. 

“Something very important has happened,” he said as she came to him. He took her hands and pulled her against him, pressing her head to his chest as he stroked her hair. 

“I know…” She murmured into the lapel of his suit jacket. “But…what is it that has happened?” 

“We have received a call,” he said softly, bowing his head to bury his nose in her hair. “Martha Jones is near. The girl thinks she is clever…” He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he lifted his head, letting his finger tips trail down along the line of her spine, the bones feeling vaguely more prominent there than they had a couple of weeks ago. “She’s nothing but a pretty, foolish little bird. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She nodded against his chest, closing his eyes, letting herself sink against him, to listen to the beat of his two hearts. They seemed more out of sync than usual. Then again…her mind had been working less properly than usual. 

_Nothing is as it usually is. Even aboard this ship._

“They think that she will rescue them,” he laughed softly, spreading his fingers over her back to warm her chilled skin. “They think that salvation is on its way. That’s why they’ve been so rowdy as of late. That little escape attempt this morning?” He laughed again, bowing his head to playfully nuzzle her neck. “How entertaining that was…” 

“What are you going to do?” Lucy asked softly, keeping her eyes firmly shut as he stroked her neck with little kisses. 

“Come with me and see,” he murmured, smiling as he took her hands in his and lead her out of the hall into the main room of the _Valiant._

Her eyes wandered the room, taking in the cameras and the wires winding about the floor, tangled like mating snakes. And there, amidst it all, set slightly back from what appeared to be the main stage, was the Doctor in his wheelchair. She felt the faint longing to give him a reassuring grin, but what would a grin matter in the face of the bodies of children piled high to keep the fires burning? What would a grin matter in the face of a barren, starless sky blotted out by the heavy black smoke that was slowly killing them? 

“How does it feel, Doctor?” The Master hissed as he took hold of the handles of the wheelchair, spinning him about. “How does it feel to be made a weapon?” He steered the Doctor closer to one of the cameras before moving to turn it on. 

Lucy stood back and watched. She turned her eyes towards the stoic faces of the Jones family, trying to be brave for their little girl, lined in a pretty row in the back, still within sight of the cameras.

_He’s so good at this,_ Lucy thought faintly as she turned her eyes back towards her husband. She lifted an anxious hand towards the fading bruise on her eye. She lightly traced her finger tips over the mark, obscured slightly by her makeup, as she watched her husband, listened to his words directly to Martha Jones. 

Then he turned on the Doctor, lifting his screwdriver and pressing the button. 

_Where is this man’s hope?_

***   
Martha had felt awash with pain at watching the Doctor’s frantically writhing body as he was aged his full nine-hundred-and-some years. But a smile crawled unbidden to her lips when the connection was cut off and the screen died once again. 

As much pain as she felt for him, trapped within the walls of this brutal monster’s home, he was still alive. He had held on, clung to his life all the way through to this last leg of the race. 

He had as good as won.


	18. 17. Chinese Handcuffs

Lucy had found a stockpile of the strange little wicker toys…hundred of Chinese handcuffs stored away near the place where the Master kept that man who couldn’t die, that Jack.

What was there left to do in the dying world but play with tiny, collapsible wicker tubes?

Her fingers seemed thinner. Had she lost so much weight that even her fingers were naught but bones?

Sitting in the bathroom, curled against the glass of the shower, naked save for the Chinese handcuffs that clung loosely to her fingers. She turned her eyes up towards the mirrors, sneering at her thin, bruised reflection. She had let herself sink into a worthless state. She was very nearly broken.

The bruises at her hips and her left thigh were deeper than any of the previous bruises he had given her. He’d nearly dislocated her hip, nearly broken her femur last night. He’s pushed her thigh so viciously, as though her legs weren’t spread enough, as though he needed more room to gain access to her. As she had tried to rise to her feet this morning, she found it hard to walk.

That man, Jack, had watched her with something like suspicion as she lurked around the shadows, peeking through the luggage, the things that the Master had harvested from all those countries he’d crushed. That’s when she had found all those ridiculous Chinese handcuffs.

_Are they really that entertaining?_ She thought as she pulled her eyes down to her fingers and the blue and white checkered toy. She remembered having played with these as a child. The harder you pulled at them the less likely you were to escape. She was too broken for those rule to apply now.

She couldn’t help but tip her eyes back towards her reflection. The shadows under her eyes, big and blue and, her skin like sun-bleached bone…she looked very like a corpse. A body sunken into the ground which refused to decompose at the average rate, clinging to a life-like state despite the fact that the soul was long gone, the heart long since ceased.

Chewing her lips, pale as her skin without their pant, Lucy examined her reflection.

How could he still want her so much? How could he still look at her and find himself hard? She was nothing…nothing much. She was crumpled paper tossed out a window. Her arms and her legs had grown angular and stick-like as she had lost all appetite.

_I look like Jack Skellington._

Oh, how she had loved that movie when she was younger. The Nightmare Before Christmas, the movie she would watch on Halloween when she wished it was time to open presents instead.

For a moment she wondered what had happened to Tim Burton. She imagined that the Master had killed him, but she couldn’t be sure. No one could be sure of anything anymore. She doubted that even the Master could be sure of anything in these days he had created.

That girl…that Martha Jones was running loose on the earth’s surface, doing whatever it was that she did. No one knew.

_No one knows a goddamn thing._

Tilting her head to the side, she squinted at herself in the mirror. As she had lost weight her breasts had shrunk. The curves at her waist and hips had faded. She looked less like a woman and more like a gawky, underfed teenage boy.

Once again she had to wonder: _Why does he still want me?_

Pulling off the Chinese handcuffs, she tossed them aside, turning to push herself painfully to her feet.

She limped to the door of the shower, pushing it open and fighting her way in, supporting herself on the glass of the walls. The ledge at the foot of the door presented a momentary problem, as she hesitated to lift her foot much more than an inch or two, for fear of the shocks of pain that would ripple through her hips and up her spine and down her leg.

Once inside, she turned on the water to a sizzling hot, hoping that the heat would ebb away the pain in the bruises. A hot shower so often hushed the pounding headaches that plagued her. There was a chance that it would work on her other aches and pains, right?

Closing her eyes, she hugged herself as she was pleasantly battered on all sides by the hot jets. She could feel the burning of the water bringing her blood rushing to the surface, turning her skin from white to a pale pink.

_At least it’s color._

Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of water pouring down on her face, washing about her cheeks, sleek hands pressing into her thick, golden hair and stroking her long neck.

“Lucy?”

She started at the sound of the Master’s voice, turning towards the shower door with widened eyes, wrapping her arms tighter about herself. “Y-yes?”

He stepped into the bathroom, peering at her through the steam with a smile. “Luce, finish up and get that dress on. We have a very busy day ahead of us.”

Swallowing thickly, she nodded, reaching to turn off the water as he vanished back into the bedroom. She closed her eyes, letting out a tiny, thankful sigh that he had left her alone for a moment. She didn’t think she could take another rough fucking at the moment.

Stepping out of the shower, she winced, crying out softly as she stumbled with the pain in her thigh and hips.

He was at her side then, abruptly, an arm under hers and around her bony shoulders, lifting her up. He laughed softly as he squeezed her, guiding her towards the door. “What have you done now, Lucy?” He asked as he helped her to the bed, sitting her down and standing back, giving her a look that was half-smile half-disappointed-frown. “You always do so well, darling. Bite your tongue when you feel about to cry out. There is no need for it.”

Bowing her eyes, she nodded, keeping her lips pressed firmly together.

“You bruise so easily these days,” he murmured softly, tipping his head to the side, letting his eyes scrape down over her tiny body, lingering only briefly on the bruises he had left on her. “Yet, even with those…” A small smile curled across his lips, but she didn’t not see it, her eyes still averted.

As he approached her, lifting out a hand to touch her chin with gentle fingers, she lifted her mouth obediently, welcoming his kisses as he pressed her back on the bed.


	19. 18. To Those of This World

The things that were playing out seemed to be playing out achingly slow. Not to mention that they didn’t seem to make sense. 

Lucy could feel the break in her mind like a throbbing break in her skull as she tipped her head slightly, staring at the infamous Martha Jones, forced to kneel before the Master. She really was beautiful…more so than her sister. Her skin looked soft as silk…like chocolate milk being poured, steaming, into a cup. Her eyes were huge, deep, as consuming as black holes rimmed with those long, thick lashes. 

When all of this mess was cleaned up, if the Master kept Martha Jones alive and intact, if he asked her touch their new prisoner and asked Martha to touch Lucy in return, she would welcome it as relief. Even after all those long, hard days on the destructed earth below, her hands looked to be as velvet. 

Lost in her thoughts, she nearly forgot about the Toclofane, hovering near…always everywhere, but all drawn so close for the finale in the life of their quarry, the finally captured Martha Jones. 

Martha Jones. Lucy pressed her lips together slightly, knowing how pleased the Master would be if he saw her thoughts just then. If he could see how he imagined the prisoner touching her, the body in her mind like the one she had abandoned, thighs round and soft, breasts full, waist sloping. If he could see the kisses in her mind… 

She had felt her husband roll out of bed when bid by a Toclofane to come, there was a message regarding Martha Jones. He hadn’t been sleeping, but he could be so still sometimes. It startled her into wakefulness when his arms suddenly weren’t around her anymore, when he was out of bed and his body, which had been keeping hers warm, was suddenly gone, rushing after the Toclofane that had roused him. 

He had been tender that night…Earlier in the day he had forced her back against the bed, pressed himself into her hard, again and again, tangling his fingers in her hair and jerking back, telling her to moan for him. She had done as she had been ordered, and after a day of leaning on him so as to not fall, she was brought back to their room and laid on the bed. For the first time in…had there ever been a time before when their lovemaking hadn’t been rough? She wasn’t sure. Not that the sex had been tender - it hadn’t been. It had been throbbing, pulsating, drum-driven, swelling and filling…it had been. He had forced her to cum repeatedly, kept drawing from within her the moisture of her orgasm, until there was nothing left to give and she felt as dry, as barren and as crackled as a desert. 

Without his body pressed against her to keep hers warm, she shivered in the night. 

It almost made her love for him rekindle. 

Almost. 

Her mind was so lost in itself she almost didn’t notice her husband had began to worry, Martha had laughed slightly, was still smiling as she looked up at him. 

Turning her eyes to the Master, Lucy saw the concern written clearly on his face. Perhaps, she thought, it wasn’t clear to anyone else, for no one else knew him like she did. Perhaps no one else could see it, but she could. 

She smiled faintly. 

Then it happened, and the murmur of a world united for the first time since its birth flooded the satellites, burned the ecosystem, pleasantly at last. 

“No…” The word formed on the Master’s lips as he turned his eyes nervously to the Doctor then to Martha, hearing the murmur fill his own ship. It passed on the lips of the captive Jack, of the Jones maids, even of his very own guards… 

And Lucy looked around on it as it came to be, the murmur filling her heart, expanding her lungs. She felt…warm. She felt warm and she couldn’t help but take up the murmur softly, closing her eyes, almost in a blissful state of ignorance. This would take down her husband, she knew…and then she would not have him - would she loose him, would he leave her, or would she be free of him? She did not know, but it didn’t seem real. It seemed too much like magic to be of any real significance, but she took up the chant anyway: 

_“Doctor…”_

As the word danced on his wife’s lips, the Master spun to her, his eyes flaming for just a moment before he turned back to the Doctor, cooled by the ethereal light resonating from him. The age was peeling away and knives were filling the Master’s body from every direction. Every soft murmur of the word that struck deep into him sent shock waves through his marrow, but worst of all was the sound of Lucy behind him, whispering in her fearful, soft voice: “Doctor…Doctor…” 

“STOP!” The orders fell from his lips, almost listless as the Master began to back away from the saintly form of the Doctor, his dark eyes lowered, the eyes of judgment day. 

"One thing you can't do: Stop them from thinking." 

_This can‘t be happening,_ the Master thought frantically, though he continued to back away, hands grasping for purchase everywhere but the slender ivory hands of his Lucy - she was his, after all. _This isn‘t real - it‘s too…_

It was too surreal to be real. 

"Tell me the human race is degenerate now,” the Doctor shouted down at him as he spread his hands. “When they can do this." 

"No…" He was reduced to a pathetic, whimpering child as he looked, wide-eyed, up at the Doctor and stumbled down the short stairs behind him, coming to a halt as he hit the wall at his back. 

“I am sorry, so sorry.” 

The voice of the Doctor resonated like a song through the space they occupied, and as Lucy stared at him from her position, she felt awakened in every way possible. She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff in the sunlight, dressed in a tank top and jeans torn at the knees, laughing and holding her arms out as the wind brushed through her hair. She felt as though soft fingers were caressing between her thighs, as though her thighs had shape again, as though her body weren’t bruised. The feeling grew and spread as her voice grew stronger, her eyes locked onto the man who had kissed her and not left bruises on her lips. 

And the Master felt himself to be little more than a child. 

"You can't do this!” He cried, his own voice stabbing into his throat like shards of glass as he collapsed against the wall, curling into the corner as his face creased with his cries: “You can't do this, it's not fair!" 

“You know what happens now.” 

“No!” _How pathetic…_ “No!” And yet he couldn’t stop himself, for the fear that raged through his very veins. “ _No!_ NO!”

“You're going to listen, because you know what I'm going to say.” 

He refused to look, trying to hide himself under his arms and he continued to shout “No! No!” in a desperate attempt to stop these things that were happening. Yet, he could still see, it seemed, the Doctor’s feet touching down before him, the man kneeling, bending to take him in his arms like the injured child he was, stroking his back and his shoulders: “I forgive you.” 

The worse resonated through the air. Everything seemed to have come to a sudden halt as the Master’s eyes flashed open, his fingers curling into the fabric of the Doctor’s suit. The voice echoed inside of him, alongside the drums. 

_I forgive you._

_Forgiveness?_

“My Children…” He hissed past the Doctor’s arm. 

They needed to save it. 

They needed to save the Paradox Machine - maybe then there would still be time. 

_What is forgiveness for these things?_

“My Children…” He hissed past the Doctor’s arm.

They needed to save it.

They needed to save the Paradox Machine - maybe then there would still be time.


	20. 19. Tuesday

_The Doctor was talking when I saw Lucy pick up the gun. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I opened my mouth but nothing came out, and then I felt the piercing punch but below my sternum._

_Bullet wound._

_It made the drums silent, if even for just that moment. That moment was worth being shot by my own wife._

_Then, suddenly, the world is a haze thrumming with those fucking drums, and all I can really feel is the instinctive wrench of my lungs to work with a now badly damaged diaphragm and several other badly damaged items, and the Doctor._

_For a moment there is nausea and I heard him, while his arms go around me. He speaks first to Lucy, telling her, demanding yet gentle, to put down the gun and I know, with what feels like another bullet’s entrance, that she will do as he says. His orders make it easy for the freak Jack Harkness to take the weapon from her as the Doctor lowers me carefully to the floor, bending his knees under my back to support me as he rocks me closer towards him, his voice softly brushing my senses: “I’ve got you,” he says so gently, “I’ve got you.”_

_My own wife. “Always the women,” I grit out, giving him a tight-toothed smile. I can barely focus on him, his face…It is something of a blur, made angelic by the lights above him. Oh, Doctor…I feel that nausea again, something I suspect humans might label guilt as I try to pick out the features of his face. He certainly is beautiful in this incarnation. We both are._

_“I didn’t see her,” he is assuring me, but I can only think of these things: if I allow myself to live now, I would forever be his captive. Imagining the things that I had done to him…It is only natural he should seek revenge, and yet I know that this is not how he works. This is how I work, and as much as our hearts may have been born twins, our minds were not. He ran, I was entranced…I…I was inspired._

_He would hurt me in ways I couldn’t imagine._

_“Dying in your arms…” My throat is raw for the dull throb that tells my brain that my lungs don’t want to work. This is how it has to be. “Happy now?”_

_I can feel his body’s resonating warmth seeping into me, where my body desperately aches to cool, and I can’t help it…I have to turn a little into him as my hands press in on the bullet wound. I wouldn’t rather die in anyone else’s arms. This morning I might have said I would prefer to die in Lucy’s - even thinking her name makes my skin prickle like a thousand needles trying to escape my flesh. Now I don’t care to even bother bid her goodbye._

_Fuck her._

_“You’re not dying,” he is saying, his words hurried. “Don’t be stupid. It’s only a bullet - regenerate.”_

_The word is quick to my lips, so quick I might call it unbidden._

_“No.”_

_“One little bullet,” he says, his words falling out over my face in a tumble, his breath soothing my cheeks. The burning seems to be spreading throughout my body while my nerves simultaneously shut down and numb me. His breath is too soothing…it unnerves me slightly, but I smile as I watch his obscured face…the glimmer of rivers of tears in the light begin to make themselves apparent to my failing vision. His tears reassure me. “Come on…”_

_“I guess you don’t know me so well,” I hiss. Even then, as he cradles me against his thin body, his fingers pressing in on my shoulders, keeping the nerves alive for just a few more moments as he rocks me back and forth. “I refuse.” A slight whisper._

_“Just regenerate,” he begs of me. His voice beginning to crack, to waver in the air. “Please…please. Just regenerate…come on…”_

_The world is weighing heavily below me now that my Paradox Machine has been destroyed. Damn them._

_I am shaking my head slightly, feeling as fuzzy as he looks, and light as well. I might be floating, and I might believe that I am, but I can feel his body solidly against mine, his knees bent under my back. “And spend the rest of my life imprisoned with you?” For who knows what imprisonment with the Doctor might mean? His torture isn’t something I know much about. His torture is much more practiced and much more skilled. It is of the emotional form which I have not mastered…It’s funny…something I haven’t mastered which he has. He is a master of emotions._

_“But you’ve got to,” he is whispering to me, and I can see that his big eyes are flooding with tears, only by the glint of the light on them. “Come on…” His voice…a wash of ocean water in the sun… “It can’t end like this…”  
But why not, Doctor? Why can’t it end like this? Can’t you see? This is what you have wanted for me! My wife betraying me, the hand that dealt me death! It’s so serendipitous! Perhaps if I had hit her less and kissed her more - but this is just perfect for you, Doctor! It is art, and aren’t you a fan of art?_

_“You and me…all the things we’ve done…” I can feel him shaking, his arms and hands tightening on me and he continued to rock me, continues to sooth me as my body continues to shut down. Strange, what one little bullet can do. “Axons - remember the axons? And the daleks…”_

_I almost pity him as he panics. I almost want to lift a hand, to touch his cheek and touch his lips with mine…I would be tempted, if I thought that my hands would work._

_“We’re the only two left,” he finally murmurs, finally admits his true intentions._

_Yes, Doctor, you, too, are selfish. You, too, are not immune to the desire to please one’s self. You can also act out of the pure desire to fulfill your own wants. You are not above it, my dear Doctor._

_“I have no one else…” And it is so true…His beloved Rose, of whom he spoke so often when he thought I was not about, when he thought no one was about. He spoke to himself so much…and so much of it was about that girl…that human girl, gone like Gallifrey, like the rest of the Time Lords…Martha Jones, who will leave him after this, as well…Me. Once I am gone, Doctor…you will be alone. “REGENERATE!”_

_I can feel a smile on my lips, vaguely. “How about that?” My eyes can barely stay focused on anything, let alone on the tear-stained face of the Doctor, my adversary and now the man holding me in death…this man, holding me so tightly in death, as he pleads, pleads so pathetically for me to regenerate_

_And him…What if I were to die alone, holding him in my arms as he faded from life? What if he left me truly alone before I ever had the chance to be relieved of my own life? I wonder how I would react if the scenario were somehow switched in some way_

_Thought I cannot clearly see his face, just the flickering blur of him, the glint of light on the streaks on his cheeks, I can feel his arms around me, the rhythm of his breath_

_It warms me, that I am not, as I thought I might be, alone in death._

_Still, I cannot help laugh but at him._

_"I win."_

__

FIN


End file.
